Spell-Less in Seattle
by Cid62
Summary: Leaving the wizarding world was necessary for one Salem witch. Meanwhile, former Death Eaters Lucius Malfoy and Walden Macnair will use any means necessary to survive in the post-war world. Part III of a trilogy.
1. Chapter 1 – Dark and Stormy Night

DISCLAIMER: J.K. Rowling owns most of the characters and settings here—I own the rest.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story is the final one in the story arc that contains "Dark Redemption" and "Date with an Executioner."

**SPELL-LESS IN SEATTLE  
Chapter 1 – It's Always a Dark and Stormy Night**

_**September 30**__**th**__**, 1998, Seattle, Washington**_

I pulled out of the parking garage at around 8 pm. The project was finally over, all the coding done, everything shipped, no more QA, no more endless meetings. The Volvo's headlights revealed wet streets, which was very normal for my adopted city. I punched in some numbers on my cell phone and Maria picked up on the first ring.

"How's he doing?" I said, after we had exchanged pleasantries. I used my private school Spanish; she pretended not to understand me. We were friends, even though I paid her a handsome salary to clean my tiny house and baby-sit my son, who was almost three, and very precocious. She was the only luxury that I allowed myself, other than the expensive (but safe—all the commercials said so) car.

"OK, Mrs. R. He's looking kind of tired so he'll probably be going to sleep soon."

"That's cool. Look, I'm going to go do some shopping. I'll see you in a couple of hours." I hung up. I felt the need to reward myself a bit. An espresso and a few mystery novels sounded good. Since the new software release efforts had begun about eight months ago, I had not done much reading for pleasure—other than the occasional hastily-read and even more hastily-discarded copies of _The Stranger_.

In about a quarter of an hour, the massive chain bookstore loomed ahead of me out of the gloom. I truly hated shopping at these book emporia—they would, eventually, along with the online stores, probably put independent booksellers out of business. Although I had been out of the retail world for a few years now, I still sympathized with small shop owners everywhere. It was a curse—and I winced as I used that word mentally. No, it was a _virus_. Scientific-sounding terms were always better. _I must not think bad thoughts_, as X, the old LA punk band, once sang during the 80s.

I parked the square, silver Swedish sedan, attempting not to think of the implications of the alliteration of that phrase, in the middle of a row of towering SUVs. Most were probably being driven exclusively on well-paved roads and parked next to manicured shrubs and chemically-enhanced lawns at night. _Oh tempora, oh mores_. I really was no fan of the Latin language. I locked the car with the little electronic alarm device and tottered off toward the store on my medium-height heels. Corporate culture had dictated that I show up today for the final round of meetings in a suit, so I had.

I observed myself in the mirrored store windows as I walked in. Reflected back was a mid-30s female corporate drone, medium height, with brown hair in a neat, chin-length bob from which no hair strayed out of place. (I actually did pay a fair sum of money to keep it looking that way, and did not consider that a luxury.) I was wearing wire-framed, oval glasses. I had a young-looking and very non-descript face, two and only two pearl stud earrings, a gold-colored Timex watch, and absolutely no jewelry with symbols or motifs of any kind. I was clad in a raincoat (although it was technically the summer, said coat was a year-round accessory here), the aforementioned boring shoes, a dark blue suit (which consisted of a skirt and blazer), and a silk blouse. Dangling from my hands were a Coach purse and my cell phone (iterations of which had mysteriously gotten smaller and more Star-Trek-like over the years).

And underneath it all, if one were to look, one would find several tattoos (most acquired during the 1980s), and a few exotic piercings. If one were to push up my suit jacket sleeve and examine my left arm carefully with the edges of one's perception, one might find a magically glamoured and disguised skull-and-snake brand, courtesy of the former Tom Riddle. When it hurt, which it hadn't lately, I covered it with an Ace bandage, took a lot of Advil, and claimed it was an old sports injury. I would, however, _not, not, absolutely NOT_ think about any of that.

I walked into the store. Stacks of the latest hardcover novels loomed before my eyes, and remainders forlornly lurked near them, as if hoping to be asked to join the team after years of waiting. I walked past them to the Mystery section. After a few minutes of browsing, I found a stack of likely prospects and lugged them over toward the coffee shop. But the abundant coffee that I had drunk that day at work suddenly took its toll, so I found myself handing the books to the sullen, blue-haired barista for safekeeping and running toward the ladies' room.

When I emerged, I found myself near the children's section, so I thought I'd see if maybe I could find a little literary gift to bring home to Eddie (short for Edward Andrew). He loved books and reading even at his young age. This thrilled me and thus I took every opportunity to encourage it—which usually meant that I sent Maria off with loads of cash to buy the latest kidlit offerings. I loved children's books, even though I hadn't shopped for them in ages. Maybe I'd even buy him some of my old favorites, like Charlotte's Web and the Narnia books-

And then I saw it. There was a huge cardboard display of what seemed to be two different titles, and there were—there were…no, there _couldn't_ be, but there were….merchandising shelves next to it, and they had-

I walked slowly toward the merchandising display. As it was late, and a weeknight, there were no children in the section. I was glad of this, because they might have wondered why the lady in the business suit had dropped her purse and cell phone on the floor and started to cry. And if their parents were around, they would have definitely called security at the sight of a grown woman, seated on the floor, clutching a holographic mouse pad from which an animated sneering professor/wizard glared. Said wizard was looming over a small boy with messy black hair, glasses, and a lightning-bolt shaped scar on his forehead, who was mixing a gloppy green mess in a cauldron.

When I finally pulled myself together and made it back to the barista, I had a stack consisting of both Harry Potter books (although I was unsure what, exactly a "Sorcerer's Stone" could possibly be), the aforementioned mouse pad (turned over so I wouldn't have to see the picture), and a stuffed three-headed dog (which I was certain that Eddie would enjoy). The blue-haired kid actually smiled at me when I sat the items next to the stack of mysteries and ordered a mocha.

"You like Harry Potter?" he asked.

_My ex-husband apparently dated his mother, but I never met him…but I'm really not supposed to talk about that…_I started to say—but thought better of it. "Uh. These are for my son," I said. "Have you read them?"

"Oh, yeah. They're great. The second one just came out, and the third one's coming out next year, you know. It'll be out in England first. I read about it on a Web site." He expertly manipulated the espresso machine. As the steam hooted, I smiled. Seattle was one of the most wired communities in the U.S. "It's called _Prisoner of Azkaban_," he continued. "Lady, are you all right?" he added a few minutes later, when I didn't reply to him. "Excuse me, lady?"

"Oh. I'm—I'm sorry," I said. "I've been working really long hours and I guess I sort of drifted off there for a moment. You didn't just say, um, Azkaban, did you?" Although I knew he had, of course.

"Yeah, that's the new Harry Potter book," he said, "Coming out next year! Do you work at MegaSoft?" he asked, as he handed me my mocha.

"Why, yes I do. How did you know?" I said, accepting the beverage and handing him my credit card to pay for all the items. Look for MegaOffice Ver. 7.0, coming to your computer soon, I thought. Pay no attention to the blood, sweat and tears—the shrink wrap will protect you.

"We get a _lot_ of MegaSoft employees in here, and they all look just as whacked as you do. And most of them order mochas," he said, swiping my card through the reader. He waved an electronic wand over my purchases, flipping the mouse pad over as he did so. "Cool! Professor Snape! He's my favorite character in the books," he remarked, holding up the pad and examining the picture.

_Oh kid, if you only knew_, I thought. Rather than asking him what he thought of, say, Lucius Malfoy, who I fervently hoped was _not_ mentioned in these books, I considered the picture. Severus' nose looked squashed (in real life, it wasn't), and I had never seen him wear purple nail polish. Otherwise, it was a remarkably close likeness, for a cartoon image. "He looks kind of Gothic," I said. I heard the chattering noise that indicated that my credit card was approved and the purchases were being racked up on it.

"I think he's a vampire or something, but my friend Eric says I'm full of shit—oh, sorry, lady," he said. I fervently hoped that _my_ friend Erik was not tracking my credit card purchases. Come to think of it, why hadn't I been informed about these books? What in the hell was going on? And who was this 'prisoner of Azkaban', anyway? I knew of more than a few wizards who sure as hell belonged there.

"Maybe only part-vampire," I said, not able to resist.

"You think?" he said, handing me the credit card slip to sign. I handed it back. He gave me the bag with my purchases. "Thank you, Mrs. Richards," he said. I was technically a single mom, but I didn't correct his mistake. My credit card (American Express, gold) read "Mary H. Richards." The "H" didn't stand for anything, sort of like President Truman's middle initial. I had come up with the name on the spot when Erik asked me if I had a preference, as I had been a big fan of the Mary Tyler Moore TV show in my youth and I kind of liked the irony of that, plus it used my actual initials, but backwards.

My real name, of course, was Rowan Hawthorne Macnair, but it had been Snape, once. I wondered what the blue-haired barista would think of that. In the parking lot, I noted, in my PalmPilot, to visit this particular bookstore when the new book came out.

On the way home, I called my boss and told him I wouldn't be coming in the next day, as Edward (his real name was Evan Allister, as you've probably figured out by now) was ill. As I never took time off, I hoped this wouldn't be a problem.

What I was really going to do, of course, was read those damn books. And I did, all night long, stopping only to take the occasional bathroom break and comfort Eddie when I heard him crying because of a nightmare. I had my suspicions that the nightmares and my reading might have been related, but I let this thought pass. By the time of my second perusal of "Chamber of Secrets," I knew that I'd have to visit Vancouver Island that weekend.

When I had activated the Auror's Portkey in 1995, I had been instantly transported to NYAF Headquarters, specifically the Magical Witness Protection Program Office. Oddly enough, Erik happened to be there on an errand for his boss. He had not seemed surprised to see me, even though I had a baby wrapped in a tartan in one arm and a Dark Mark on the other arm. That night, while various Program functionaries comforted young Evan Allister, fed him from bottles, and even sang him to sleep, Erik and I had formulated the details of my new life.

To Erik's credit, he didn't make any judgmental comments (in my presence, at least). First, Auror Silverman attempted to mitigate and conceal the Dark Mark. He was not entirely successful—the damn thing burned almost constantly for a year—but we were, at least, reasonably confident that I couldn't be traced through it. I had, after all, not been initiated, although I certainly had betrayed Voldemort…not that I had ever considered myself to have been loyal.

As I said before, I had come up with my name, and the Program secretary who watched Evan had given him his new name (which I thought was rather boring, but so be it). A low-level job at a software company and a furnished apartment in a faraway city were provided, and multiple semi-permanent Appearance Charms were performed. After that, new identification (including a secured Muggle credit card and bank account) was created. The next afternoon (the Program offices actually contained sleeping quarters), Erik and I had completed a rather lengthy debriefing session, during which I told him everything I knew about Voldemort and his henchmen. I supplemented the interview with my Pensieve—the one that I had bought through Inanna's store, which, by the time it arrived on special order, she had sent right to Erik rather than me—but I did not go into it with him when he watched the Samhain Revel part.

Finally, I gave the bracelet that Walden had given me and instructions on how to access my wizarding gold to Erik. He had the gold exchanged for dollars, which I eventually invested, and the bracelet was sent to the same NYAF high-security vault where my old Pensieve resided.

Erik transported us personally to Seattle later the next day. We set up a location, on Vancouver Island, where he could send owl posts. Rhiannon had been notified as to my whereabouts and put under a Fidelius Charm, and truly important news from my friends, covenmates, and others could be sent through her and then on to Erik. I had the suspicion that the extremely vague news sent to me by Erik was heavily edited, as I was never told the whereabouts of Walden and Lucius. And I had no way of finding out, either, as the conditions of my acceptance of asylum through the Program included my complete isolation from the wizarding world (other than Erik's updates). I was to maintain said isolation until Erik had determined, categorically, that Voldemort had been destroyed and peace had been attained. As of the last time I'd checked the owl post earlier, this unfortunately had not yet happened. The last reports I received had not been very promising.

Frightened of the repercussions should I lose my asylum, I had not even attempted to contact anyone in the large Seattle Muggle Neo-Pagan community, although I saw evidence of their existence nearly every day.

As I considered all this, I realized that I hadn't been to the owl post drop for nearly a year, since before the Version 7.0 project had started at work. And then, Edward had gotten the flu, and Maria's grandmother had gotten sick and she had taken two months' leave, causing me to have to employ a series of unsatisfactory au pairs. I tried my best to balance the demands of work and motherhood, so that one day Edward wouldn't turn dysfunctional, because the Gods only knew he'd had a very rough start of things. So I had let my only source of wizarding news turn stale. For all I knew, Erik might have sent me copies of the books already.

"Mommy, are we there yet?" Evan had taken remarkably well to his "new" name—he insisted, in fact, that I use it as much as I could. I wondered if he thought it was some kind of game. I had decided to give him his real name back, as the release of the books seemed to indicate that things had changed in the wizarding world. Maria had not been surprised when I informed her of the name change, either. I had my suspicions that she might have a bit of psychic ability. I had also told her, in secret, that Evan's father had not been a very nice man (I grimaced as I remembered _exactly_ how not nice he had been on that October night), and that I was not planning to reveal any more about him until I was ready.

"No, Evan, we're not—but we'll get there real soon now," I replied, and was rewarded with a large smile. Evan looked an awful lot like his father—the same black hair, same blue eyes. He was also, according to the pediatrician, large for his age. And this morning, while he had been putting on his sweater, its color had changed from orange (which he hated, but it had been on sale) to a shade of green that I had hoped I would never see again. I stepped on the gas. That fucking island couldn't get there fast enough for me.

"Cooooooooool!" he exclaimed, as he heard the turbocharged engine rev. He had the stuffed three-headed dog clutched tightly in his arms. I had learned that its name was Fluffy, and that it had been one of Hagrid's pets; thus, it was only logical that Evan would treasure it. In fact, I thought, it had almost seemed as if he recognized it when I handed it to him. I had stuffed the mouse pad into the back of my filing cabinet.

As the events of the first Harry Potter book had occurred in 1991 and early 1992, which was before I had met Severus, I hadn't been completely aware of all of them. I did remember him mentioning something about the doomed Professor Quirrell once, come to think of it. As far as the second book had been concerned, I had a lot of trouble reading it, because I remembered that year all too clearly, of course—it was, of course, set during the year I had met and fallen in love with Severus. (And, sadly, Lucius was in it.) As for the upcoming third book, I was now completely dreading it. Hagrid (who was depicted quite accurately) was an integral character in the books, and I was almost positive that the hippogriff incident would be in the new one.

How on earth had these books come to be written?

At last, after an interminable ferry ride, we drove to the remote location and made the short hike to the owl post drop area. To the Muggles, it looked like an abandoned shack. Evan had never been here with me. Nevertheless, he ran toward it as if it was his second home.

"Mommy, is this our new house? Are we going to live here now?" he asked, excitedly. In addition to being an owl post drop, it was also a safe house. I reached in my pocket for the transfigured key (it looked like a crushed soda can) and opened the door. Evan ran in the minute I did, just as I was saying, "No, we're just visiting."

"Mommy, there's a bird outside! A big bird!" yelled Evan. Indeed, a large, snowy owl fluttered there, in the process of dropping a package into the drop-slot built into the window. I opened up the sealed tin of owl treats and then opened the window. The owl flew in. "Here, give the bird these," I said to Evan, handing him some of the treats, as I untied the letter from the owl's leg. There was also a rather large pile of letters and a couple of book-shaped packages under the drop-slot, just as I had expected.

The owl hooted at Evan, who giggled, and then it exited the window. Both of us watched as it flapped away. I then walked over and touched a hidden panel in the wall, from which a drawer protruded. In the drawer lay my wand. Within the walls of the safe house, and within reason, I was permitted to use magic, on a very limited basis.


	2. Chapter 2 – News of the Wyrd

DISCLAIMER: J.K. Rowling owns most of the characters and settings here—I own the rest.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story is the final one in the story arc that contains "Dark Redemption" and "Date with an Executioner."

**SPELL-LESS IN SEATTLE  
Chapter 2 – News of the Wyrd**

I slowly picked up my wand. "What's that, Mommy?" asked Evan, almost immediately.

"It's my wand," I answered, absently, as I looked at it. 10 inches, rowan wood (what did you expect?), dragon heartstring. Severus had taken me to purchase it not long after I had begun seeing him. I had actually expected that Eric would confiscate it before he had transported us to Seattle, but he hadn't. He had told me that the Department of Magic trusted me. After all, I had dropped the dime on Voldemort, and I hadn't actually been one of his followers—I had just been married to two of them. Sigh.

"What does it do?" asked Evan. He had been at the "question-a-minute" stage in his development since he had been able to speak. My take on child rearing was that I should be as honest as possible to him, within reason. Of course, prior to this afternoon, I had not exposed Evan to anything having to do with the wizarding world.

"It does magick," I said. "Watch." And I levitated one of the rickety chairs that sat in the corner of the shack next to an equally rickety table. Then, I levitated the stack of mail off the floor and moved it over so that it sat on the table.

Evan giggled. "Can I do that?" he asked. _Oh kid, I am sure you can, and a lot more_, I thought. Unfortunately, I had left all of the books I had purchased about raising wizarding children behind at Walden's lodge. I had hoped that seeing the books after I left would make him mad.

"Well, yes, when you get older and after you learn how," I said. _There was to be no going back now_, I thought. I sat the wand on the table, out of his reach. "Would you like to see a picture of—of your dad?" I asked. He had asked me about his father for the first time last year, when he had been exposed to other children at an afternoon play group. I had told him that we were divorced (unfortunately, this was a lie), and that he lived in another country (as far as I knew, he still did).

"Yes," he said, looking up at me soberly. I almost expected him to say "Aye," as he bit his lip just as Walden had, I thought. I turned back to the compartment in the wall, and withdrew a small box from it. I sat the box on the table and tapped it with my wand. It grew larger. I opened the top of the box. Evan watched all of this silently.

I pulled out a framed wizard photo of Walden and handed it to Evan. In the picture, Walden was holding the bridle of one of his horses (who was named Salazar) and standing next to his barn. I had taken it about a week or so after I had moved to his lodge, when I had been happy, although magically manipulated.

"Mommy, he's moving! And the horse is moving!" I looked at the picture and sucked in my breath. As we watched, Salazar tossed his head, and Walden fed a sugar cube to the stallion. Then, Walden turned toward us and nodded and smiled. I had forgotten how good-looking he was. Oh Gods. I had been working far too hard and far too long. And, although the terms of my exile didn't specify it, I had decided to remain single and celibate. I was seriously reconsidering that choice at the moment. Unfortunately, the men at MegaSoft, as I'd observed, were all either married, gay, hopelessly wimpy, or too young for me…not to mention that none of them could stand up to the memory of Walden—or Severus, for that matter. (_And let's not forget Lucius_, my mind added, although I had certainly attempted to.)

"The man smiled at me, Mommy!" exclaimed Evan, whose eyes were glued to the picture.

"That's your dad, Evan," I said, feeling as if perhaps this outing hadn't been such a good idea.

"What's his name?" he asked. I told him. "Is that going to be my last name, now, too?" he asked. I explained that we used my last name now, as Walden and I were no longer together. "Do you have a new name, like my new name?" he asked, after musing that one over for a bit.

"Evan isn't your new name, it's your real name. And yes, I have one, too," I said, and I told him what it was.

"It's pretty, Mommy!" he said, and then asked, "Why are you and my dad not together any more?"

"Well, Evan, sit down for a minute," I said. He walked over to one of the chairs and sat down. I sat next to him, paying no attention to the abundant layers of dust that covered the furniture. Then I picked up my wand and conjured two glasses of lemonade. "You see, your dad had some ideas about the way the world works that were wrong. And he did some bad things because of those ideas. Do you understand?" _And the Goddess help me_, I thought, _when he actually finds out the specifics_.

"Like the bad guys in 'Star Wars'?" he asked. Out of the mouths of babes, is that what the expression was, I thought. I had passed my love and enjoyment of science fiction movies on to Evan. He especially liked the robots C3PO and R2D2.

"Yes, just like the bad guys in 'Star Wars.'" I said. Evil hooded overlord, check, I thought. Slavish follower who eventually redeemed himself, check. Young kid who saves the galaxy, check. Joseph Campbell, please pick up the courtesy phone in the lobby.

"What did my dad do?" he asked.

"Evan, ask me that again someday, and I'll tell you," I said. This had worked before, and I hoped it worked again.

"OK," he said. "Can we go outside?" I glanced out the window. Black clouds were looming. "Well, you can, until it rains, but then you have to come in." I went out with him and cast a protective circle around the perimeter of the area. "Don't go any farther than that tree," and I pointed. "I'll leave the door open. Do you have to use the potty?"

"No," he said, and ran outside. He loved the outdoors and was very active, just as I imagined Walden must have been as a child. I watched him as he ran happily through the grass for a moment, and then I turned my attention to the pile of mail.

There were two packages, both from Erik. He used his own name, and my name, as the shack was considered secure. He had also sent three more letters. There were four large packets that contained copies of the Salem Enchanter, sent by Rhiannon.

I decided to tackle the two packages first. The one dated earlier, as I suspected, contained a copy of the first Harry Potter book (the British edition, which was titled "HP & the Philosopher's Stone," which made a _lot_ more sense to me.). A letter, dated September 1997 (right around the time when I had started the Version 7.0 project, I noted), accompanied the first book.

_Dear Rowan,_

_Since you have a kid, I figured I'd better send this book to you right away. You'll probably be hearing about it soon enough. _

_Anyway, last week, I saw Rhiannon, Inanna, Michele, Bryan, and one of Bryan's friends at the Institute. Bryan's friend, Charlie, is Arthur Weasley's son, and he told me that his dad had come up with this nutty idea to help with the defeat of Voldemort._

_Basically, without breaking any of the Statutes of Secrecy, the idea is to make the Muggles aware that Voldemort and his crew are obviously the bad guys, so maybe they'll help us kick their worthless asses. (I've already given copies of the book to some of my buddies at the NYPD, so I'm doing my part.)_

_One of the Hogwarts teachers wrote outlines for seven books (one for each of the Potter kid's school years). Then, using some kind of time-travel device from the Department of Mysteries, she gave the notes to a distant Muggle cousin of hers who was traveling by train._

_Then, this teacher did a very limited and specialized Memory Charm on the Muggle woman, so she'd think that the books were all her idea. Well, the Muggle wrote the first book (as it turned out, she's a good novelist), and sold it to a publisher, and what do you know, it hit the top of the bestseller charts over in England, and now it's being published here. I think maybe that some of those Ministry wizards had something to do with a lot of that, but the book is pretty damn good, really. And I'll send you the next one when I get it._

_Be warned, the Count is in it!_

_Blessings of the Ancestors, from your pal,_

_Erik_

The second package was dated May 30, 1998. I ripped open the brown paper and lifted the lid of the box. A postcard, depicting the Statue of Liberty, lay on top of a New York Yankees baseball cap, which was wrapped in what I recognized as touch-resistant material—hence, it was a Portkey.

I turned the card over slowly. The message was very short and to the point.

_Rowan,_

_The bastard's finally gone for good._

_It's time to come home._

_Your pal,_

_Erik_


	3. Chapter 3 – Prisoner of Azkaban

DISCLAIMER: J.K. Rowling owns most of the characters and settings here—I own the rest.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story is the final one in the story arc that contains "Dark Redemption" and "Date with an Executioner."

Astute readers will note that I moved the actual release date of the POA book up by a couple of months to suit my purposes.

**SPELL-LESS IN SEATTLE  
Chapter 3 – Prisoner of Azkaban**

Although I was excited at the possibility of taking Evan to see his ancestral country (if not his actual ancestors), several cross-country Portkey trips were necessary before I could even consider a trip to the UK. After all, I was a participant in a governmental program, and the government's penchant for bureaucracy was not limited to the Muggle world. There were myriad forms to fill out and interviews and debriefings to sit through. I was glad of Erik's presence and uncompromising friendship during that extremely boring four-month period.

During those long hours of waiting, there was also my job to consider, although when I made a side trip to Gringotts' New York branch and discovered how much my small fortune had appreciated (due, in part, to further successes of the aforementioned Information Processing wizards), I didn't consider it for very long. In fact, I made a note in my PalmPilot to give my two months' notice in early March, 1999, shortly after my sixth trip to Program headquarters.

Thankfully, during the transition period, Maria agreed to remain in my employ. I told her I had received a job offer from a firm in New York and she didn't ask me any questions. I handed her the two Harry Potter books and asked her to read them to Evan, though, to get him prepared for the world he would soon enter (although I didn't tell her that, of course).

One night in late April, after a particularly lengthy and boring trip to New York, I arrived back home via Portkey from Vancouver, and then driving for the last leg. I was extremely relieved that I only had a couple of more weeks at MegaSoft, because the Portkey lag was kicking my butt. Assuming (as it was after 9 pm) that Maria and Evan would already be asleep, I let myself into the house quietly. I had just about drifted off when I heard a light tap on my door.

It was Evan, and he asked to come in and sleep in my bed with me, as he was having nightmares. After fulfilling my motherly duties-asking him if he had brushed his teeth and had his nightly glass of water—I turned down the bed and he climbed in. Then he looked at me, biting his lip in that way that reminded me, disquietingly, of Walden.

"Mommy, why did my dad try to kill Buckbeak?" he asked, without any preamble.

"What the fu-I mean…uh…sh….uh, crap?!" I blurted. "What…how did you hear about that?" I was instantly awake, as if I'd downed ten espressos.

"Maria bought me a new book yesterday, about Harry Potter," Evan said. How had I not noticed that it was out? Why hadn't they mentioned it at NYAF headquarters? Jeez, with all the nasty stuff in them, who decided that they were supposed to be children's books, anyway? I took a deep breath, and replied, "Well, Evan, it was his job to do that." _Yeah, he was only following orders. Sigh._

He mulled over my words for a while, and then nodded, apparently satisfied. Then he hugged me and said, "He wasn't nice, was he, Mommy?" I kissed the top of his head.

"Well, he was nice some of the time," I said. "He cared a lot about you." I remembered those brief weeks of familial interaction we'd had, and how gentle Walden had been with him. _If only_…but I had internally debated alternate scenarios with myself numerous times, and they were mostly pointless. Evan would have gone straight to Junior Death Eater camp, or whatever Dark wizards did to educate their young.

"I don't know if I'd like him, 'cause he kills animals!" replied Evan, his voice rising a little toward the end. I thought of my old Salem acquaintance, Moonwillow, and wondered what he'd think of this conversation. _Karma at work_, he'd probably say. Evan definitely wasn't getting his convictions from me—I was still neither a vegetarian nor an activist.

"Well, Evan, I didn't like that very much either," I said. "That's one of the reasons why I'm not with your dad anymore." _Among other killings_, I added mentally. Maybe, when Evan was old enough, I'd let Erik tell him about those. In the meantime, though, after I'd put Evan back to bed, I picked up the phone.

"Erik!" I shouted at him, when he answered. _Didn't he ever sleep?_

"Yeah, yeah. I know! I mean, I know what you're calling about. Sorry! They told me it was out right after you left. I would have followed you but I had to go work on another case. How'd you find out?"

"Because Evan just asked me a very pointed question about his father."

"Damn, the kid's pretty sharp, isn't he?"

"A real chip off the old block," I said.

* * *

About three weeks later, I drove to Evan's pre-school to speak with his teacher and settle my final bill there. He'd only been attending for a few months, under his real name. The parking lot was filled with brand-new foreign cars and SUVs, and women dressed in the latest natural-fiber casual fashions, holding the hands of miniature versions of themselves, were streaming out of the building toward their vehicles.

I wasn't going to miss the Muggle world a bit, I thought, as I observed them.

Evan's teacher's office looked almost exactly like an upscale coffeehouse. I sat on the leather sofa, hoping that it had been a castoff from one of the students' families and not paid for by the exorbitant tuition fees. The teacher, who was dressed identically to the yuppie clone women in the parking lot, handed me a cup of chai, and we sipped our beverages and chatted about the weather (it was raining, big surprise) and about MegaSoft's newest release (which I fervently hoped I'd never have to see again).

"Mrs. Richards," she began. I did a double take—I had been used to hearing "Miz Hawthorne" or worst of all, "Miz Macnair" over the last few months, except at work.

"Er, yes," I said, nodding at her to continue and setting down my teacup.

"I think that we need to discuss Evan's issues concerning fantasy and reality," she said, patronizingly.

"Do we?" I instantly jumped into Alpha Witch Bitch mode. Issues, my ass, I thought. Honey, you don't know jack about Evan's issues.

She continued on, apparently used to bitches. "Evan has been telling his classmates that…well, that he, er…" She paused, took a breath, sat her teacup down, and dropped her head into her hands. Then she looked up at me. "Can I speak frankly to you?" she said.

"Of course," I replied, still wary, but a bit more sympathetic of her.

"Look. I only took this job so that I could help my husband with the payments on our vacation home," she said. "I don't even WANT all that stuff, but he just keeps spending and spending," she sighed. Then she told me his name; I recognized him as a MegaSoft middle manager, from another department. She sighed heavily. "I wish I had never married him. Oh, I shouldn't have told you any of this, you work there! But I guess that doesn't matter—you're leaving, right?" She stared at me, pleadingly.

"Yes, I got a job offer, and we're..er, relocating to the East Coast," I said…_a part of it where nobody much worries about MegaSoft_, I thought.

"Mrs. Richards, I really like Evan, and I'm going to miss him. He's a good boy, he's extremely smart, but…." She paused again and looked up at the ceiling. "This is going to sound so weird," she said. "But I almost believe what Evan's been saying."

"Um, Mrs.…." I glanced around for a nameplate. "Ms. Carter," I said. "What, exactly, _has_ Evan been saying?" I thought I had an idea of what was coming.

"Well—you know," she began. "I love those Harry Potter books. And apparently, so does Evan. A little too much, I think. He told some of his classmates that he was going to Hogwarts, and he told me that his father was that horrible executioner from the latest book, the one who was going to kill Hagrid's pet, I forget his name…" her voice drifted off.

I looked her straight in the eye and moved my hand toward my purse, very slowly, and withdrew my wand. I assumed she wasn't referring to the hippogriff. "His name is Walden Macnair. And he was my husband. Well, he actually still is, because I haven't divorced him yet." As the teacher's eyes got wider and wider, I stood up, wand in hand. "And yeah, horrible, I'd have to say that's a fair assessment." _Well, he was pretty horrible right before I left_, I thought.

"What—what are you trying to do with that?" she said, indicating the wand. "You can't tell me those books are actually real—oh my God, you're as disturbed as Evan is!"

"Keep your voice down," I said, as I mentally intoned the words to an old Institute spell, to keep her calm and influence her—very slightly—to believe what I was saying. "I'm not any more disturbed than you are, and neither is Evan. We were living out here so that we'd be protected. I passed some information on about the Dark Lord to the Ministry of Magic. Evan's father was one of his supporters."

"Really!" she exclaimed. "I knew it! It said in the book that he was an old friend of Draco Malfoy's father! I reread it after Evan told me that," she added.

"Yes, they were friends. I knew Lucius Malfoy, too," I said. "But look. I can't let you remember any of this conversation." I leveled the wand at her.

"Oh no! Just like—what was his name-Lockhart!" she exclaimed. "Please don't! I promise not to tell anyone. Look, is that Professor Lupin single?" she asked, with a smile. "And is he good-looking? And what about Sirius Black? And Professor Snape?" Her eyes were sparkling and I saw in them what she must have looked like as a child. "And have they killed him? You-Know-Who, I mean?"

I nodded at her.

"Is that why you're leaving?" I nodded again, in response.

"Oh, all right," I sat back down. "Remus Lupin was indeed quite good-looking; he died at the Battle of Hogwarts—he and his wife," I said. She nodded, looking a bit sad at the last revelation. "Sirius Black was killed at the Ministry of Magic, right after the Aurors came in and fought with, er, some Death Eaters who'd broken in…" _Including Walden and Lucius_, I thought, but I didn't tell her that part.

Her eyes held no comprehension. "What are Aurors…and Death Eaters?" she asked.

"I suspect you'll find out all about them in the next book," I answered. "And, Sev-Professor Snape, I mean—well, he's…he became Headmaster of Hogwarts. Eventually." I just couldn't stand to reveal to her that he'd been killed, too. She'd probably never want to read the rest of the books.

"Oh, I'm so glad," she said. "Every teacher has their moments, you know, when they want to be just like him," she chuckled. "Around here, the worst thing you could do to these kids is take away their gold cards," she finished, taking another sip of her tea. "How _did_ you ever get mixed up with….well, you know?"

"Long story," I said.

"Did you know Professor Snape, too? You started to call him by his first name," she asked.

"Uh, we were friends once," I said. Then I looked at her sadly. Under other circumstances, I might have become friends with this woman, but I couldn't risk breaking wizarding law before I even had a chance to re-enter the community. "I'm sorry, but I really can't let you remember any of this," I added. "But give me your card. If things change, I'll have someone get in touch with you." I flicked my wand at her quickly. "Obliviate!" I said, just before I stashed the wand out of sight.

The teacher's eyes glazed over slightly, and then she handed me her card, regaining her composure quickly. "It's been a pleasure working with you, Mrs. Richards. Evan is a wonderful child. So imaginative."

"Oh, he is that," I said.

* * *

The Realtor had just left with all the final paperwork for the sale of the house, and I was knee-deep in newspaper, wrapping up glasses and other assorted household items and packing them into boxes, all without magic, as Maria was due any minute. She would be dropping off some of the filled boxes at the local homeless shelter, and keeping some of the others. I didn't want to bring along any reminders of my Muggle life when I left. I was also donating all of my suits and other work clothes. _Good riddance_, I thought.

I was also giving her my car, a gift that she had heartily protested, until I told her that even if she didn't take it, I planned to leave it in front of her house. Evan and I would be taking the Portkey directly to New York, and then Inanna would be picking us up from NYAF Headquarters, using Rhiannon's indestructible Volvo.

At last, all the tearful farewells were said, and I presented Maria with a handsome bonus, which she also attempted to refuse, until Evan solemnly handed it to her, saying that his Mommy wanted her to have it. This resulted in several more minutes of tearful farewells.

Then Evan and I watched through the curtainless windows as the Volvo disappeared down the wet street.

Evan was wide-eyed as we appeared on the dais, Erik in front of us, a big smile on his face.

"Hey, slugger, welcome to the Big Apple!" he said, picking up Evan and swinging him around in the air. Evan giggled. He had met Erik several times over the past few months, and clearly adored him.

The same secretary who had given Evan his Program alias stood next to Erik. "Hey, kid, why don't you come with me while your Mom talks to Erik?" She extended a hand and led him away down the hall. I thought I heard her say something about ice cream, and Evan's excited answer, as their voices grew quieter.


	4. Chapter 4 – Five-Minute Hallway

DISCLAIMER: J.K. Rowling owns most of the characters and settings here—I own the rest.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story is the final one in the story arc that contains "Dark Redemption" and "Date with an Executioner."

**SPELL-LESS IN SEATTLE  
Chapter 4 – Five-Minute Hallway**

_**August 1999, Salem, Massachusetts**_

Lucinda Wilkes did not particularly enjoy walking around dressed in Muggle-wear—especially the summer variety thereof-but the town, no matter how odd it was, was not exclusive to the American wizarding community. It wasn't that difficult to find the shop—a very nice, elderly wizard had given her directions while they both rode on the Salem Flyer. As she opened the shop door, a small bell rang twice. Lucinda nodded politely at the woman behind the counter, who had exceedingly short, brightly colored hair. _Reminds me a bit of the Weird Sisters_, she thought, with a smile. Cynthia had liked them; she'd bought a poster of them to put on her wall…and every time that song about the hippogriff had come on the wireless during the winter of 1994, she'd turned it up. Although the tune was admittedly catchy, Lucinda hadn't enjoyed the song, as the words hit too close to home, so she usually left the room until it was over.

The recent, constant intrusion of those sorts of memories made this current errand particularly urgent.

"May I help you?" the shopkeeper asked, with an accent that placed her origins in the American South. _Interesting_, she thought.

"Yes, I need a Pensieve," Lucinda said.

Although the place was filled with all sorts of odd Muggle items, the woman-obviously a witch-didn't blink an eye. "We can get those; I don't have any in stock right now, but it doesn't take long to get them-usually a week. I can ship it to you," she said.

"That would be quite acceptable," Lucinda answered, taking her money bag out of her purse. She wasn't used to American wizarding cash yet, but she thought the silver and gold engraving on the bills was rather attractive, and she had more than enough to pay for the artifact.

"If you'd just fill out this card," the witch said, handing her a quill.

She printed her name on the parchment. She paused, and said, "I have a house outside Hartford, Connecticut," she said. "But I'm afraid it's Unplottable, so you'll have to send the package by owl post, if you don't mind." She'd found that the American wizard community, more often than not, used the Muggle post. She printed the address on the card.

"Of course, Madam Wilkes," said the witch, "That's not a problem at all." After she took the card, she made a small notation on it.

Lucinda glanced around the store. She couldn't quite understand what the display of odd figurines with the large heads and eyes was meant to represent. The creatures weren't house-elves…perhaps they were an American variant? Her house had, oddly enough, come with human servants, which took a bit of getting used to.

"Can I assist you with anything else today?" the witch asked.

"Er…you wouldn't happen to have any pre-made potions in stock, would you?" She was hoping for a Dreamless Sleep…or possibly even one of those thirty-minute daydreams she'd read about in the _Prophet_, to be honest. Perhaps she'd order one of them, as well.

"We have a few, but not a very comprehensive selection, I'm afraid." She gestured to a very small shelf sitting further down the counter. It hadn't been there when Lucinda walked in the shop. "If we don't have what you want, there is an Apothecary in town, though; I can direct you there."

She quickly looked over the small shelf, and did not see what she wanted. The proprietor had turned away for a moment. She glanced at a picture behind the counter. It shimmered a bit as she kept staring-it was obviously, like the shelf, glamoured against Muggles. Instead of the tame landscape that had been in the frame, the picture showed three witches, all dressed in green, under a banner that read "The Salem Witches' Institute." They had their arms around each other and were laughing. One of them was the saleswitch, but her hair was green in the picture. The second was older, taller and rather overweight, with long graying hair, and she was wearing some sort of bright green robe. The third was wearing a shamrock-covered bowler hat and a Chudley Cannons shirt, both of which clashed quite abominably with her shoulder-length red hair. She also sported a silver snake pendant hanging around her neck.

"Madam Wilkes? The proprietor had turned back and noticed her gaze.

"Er….you….that is you in that picture, correct?"

"Yup! My friends and I from the Institute went to the World Cup a few years ago—the one where the, erm…" she paused. Lucinda had found that American witches and wizards did not wish to discuss anything having to do with the Dark Lord, which personally suited her just fine. The witch made a very slight face, and then continued, "You know, where there was that, er, disturbance?"

"Yes, I remember that," she said. _My former husband was one of the causes of it…as well as my current, extremely inattentive, lover, not to mention the man that I've never been able to forget…whose supposedly-missing wife appears to be one of your friends. Small bloody world, _she thought, and hoped that this witch did not practice Legilimency. "I was there, too, of course, just like most of us were, but I missed all that—went to sleep early." _That part, at least, was true._

"You were lucky!" the witch said. "Anyway…did you need anything else?"

"No, I think that's it for now…thank you." Her next stop was not the Apothecary; it would need to be the Owl Office. It was important to pay one's debts.

_**September 1999, Salem, Massachusetts**_

I glanced up at the walls of my office at the Institute. I really needed to do some decorating, I thought. When Rhiannon had invited me to come back and teach, after my hiatus in Seattle, I'd taken down the posters that adorned the walls, even though nothing was wrong with them…well, nothing other than that they were from The Time Before Everything Happened, that is.

That euphemistic phrase was how I referred to my fairly boring life prior to my first visit to Scotland, seven years ago. I honestly missed that life, too, although I'd found it stressful and angst-filled at the time, but the intervening years had imbued those memories with an almost golden glow. The past was over, or so I had to forcibly remind myself, nearly every day.

Tossing out the random junk that had somehow remained in the office for all those years was a good way to do it, so I had. Scattered tack holes, faint outlines, and empty desk drawers were all that remained of the relatively carefree existence I'd once led. The only item that had purposely escaped my cleaning frenzy was a wizarding postcard of the Hogwarts Express that traveled North in an endless feedback loop through a valley traversed by shining rivers. Michele and Bryan had sent it to me, a year before I'd ever visited the UK. I often stared at the card, in fact, and let my memories travel along with the train, but reminiscing wasn't going to get papers graded, so I turned back to the pile of essays. Thank the Goddess that these were about the Wizarding Statutes of Secrecy, as I hadn't quite formulated my teaching plan concerning more recent events.

Just as I'd corrected the last of the numerous spelling and grammatical errors in the latest paper, and turned it over with an audible sigh of relief, someone knocked on my door. Since I wasn't feeling particularly lazy (or paranoid), I got up to open it, rather than waving my wand. I'd got out of that habit, anyway, during my years at MegaSoft.

"Hi, Rowan!" Inanna was looking good that day, with purple hair and a matching t-shirt. She winked at me. "Letter for you. I think the return address reads…uh, 800-lb. Gorilla, Wiltshire, England," she added, as she handed me a pale grey envelope, which was stamped all over with the unmistakable marks of the Owl Relay Service. It was addressed to "Madam Rowan Hawthorne, Salem Witches' Institute," I noted.

I took the letter. Without asking me, Inanna sat down on my beat-up, plaid, secondhand couch. It had been donated to me by Rhiannon, who'd finally bought a new futon. I'd wanted to get rid of the thing (as for me, it was very full of memories) but nobody else had wanted it, so I'd performed about two weeks' worth of Cleaning Charms on it and left it where it was. I usually did not sit there, preferring to use it as a _de facto_ bookshelf.

"Come on," and she patted the cushion next to her. "I'll read it to ya, if you want."

I already knew who had sent the letter; he was likely the only person who would think to do so. I'd been expecting to get it ever since I'd left Seattle, honestly.

"No, that's all right," I said, as I stared at the return address, which, of course, read _Malfoy Manor_. We bent our heads over the letter and read it.

_My dear Rowan,_

_I realize that I have been rather remiss; I should have written you months ago. However, cleaning up the rubbish caused by the unpleasant events of late has taken up far more time than I'd anticipated. I also had no little difficulty locating you, thanks to a certain Auror who did his level obfuscatory best to ensure that._

_Nevertheless, after calling in several favors_—

"What a surprise," I interjected.

_-I was able to obtain this address for you. _

_As I no longer maintain my Connecticut land holdings, and I have no wish to unduly disturb you, rather than making a personal visit, I've chosen to send you this missive. I do hope that you don't consider it an intrusion, but rather, as an update and post-script to a certain chapter of your life._

_First of all, for my part, I regret certain of my actions toward you. Those fiercely impolite actions were motivated by baser instincts, those of a megalomaniacal madman, not I. My alliance with the self-styled Dark Lord was originally conceived as a way to maintain the time-honoured boundary between the wizarding and Muggle worlds, a boundary that, in my family tradition (and that of many others), was meant to remain immutable. _

_That this…creature…went too far is inarguable. At the end, he cared for nothing save his own skin. I was able to rescue my immediate family, as well as several close friends, from his clutches. In addition to that, Mr. Potter, in an act of gracious largesse, also personally saved Draco's life, at great risk to his own, before ridding the world of that false prophet, in whom I am sure Salazar would be sorely disappointed. Therefore, we are all in debt to Mr. Potter and his friends for our lives, and I have gone well out of my way to reward him for his heroism. _

_Your late former husband (and my dear departed friend), Severus, never trusted Riddle, and warned me against the alliance many times. He was truly a hero and truly a prince, despite his low origins-I am not sure if you are aware of his ignominious end. _

Of course I'd read of Severus' death in the _Prophet_, but the writer had omitted most of the unsavory details, I thought. Lucius did not provide any, either. I probably should have tried to find a copy of the _Quibbler_.

_As nobody else has seen fit to do so, in honour of the former Headmaster, I've erected a burial vault on the Manor grounds. We will be having a dedication ceremony there in a month's time. If you wish, it would please me very much if you would attend._

_Yours truly,_

_Lucius Malfoy_

_P.S. For your information, Walden has been my guest at the Manor during his recuperation, and will be attending the ceremony as well._

"Well, what the fuck!" Inanna blurted, while sheepishly grinning. She hadn't said anything that I hadn't been thinking.

"Yeah, who knew," I said, with a sigh. "Well. Let me get right on the horn and book myself some tickets," I began, sarcastically, and then I looked at the envelope again, and took out the remaining parchment. It was a Provincetown Portkey booking for the end of October. Leave it to Lucius to be seasonally appropriate, I thought.

"That's a **private** Portkey!" Inanna said. "That's not the regular time or place! Do you have any idea how much something like that costs?"

"Yeah." I said. "I know **exactly** how much something like that costs."

* * *

"Well, if you don't want to go, Rowan," Rhiannon began. We were sitting in her office on the futon, under a big flannel blanket, sipping hot chocolate. Even in Massachusetts, mid-September wasn't quite the season for such things, but I was comforted, nevertheless. Rhiannon had a very motherly way about her.

"That's the thing," I said. "I don't know if I want to go or not." I stirred a marshmallow into my drink. "I mean, Evan really should meet his father. And I could use some closure." I hadn't exactly processed the events of the last few years, and everyone at the Institute knew it. I figured that Rhiannon was trying to forcibly get me to acknowledge things by giving me my old job back, but I'd just about decided to end the History of Magic course with a quick lecture on Gellert Grindelwald and maybe an optional, extra-credit summer reading assignment.

"That is the understatement of the century, my dear," Rhiannon said. "Everyone here knows it and they're all too nice to tell you."

"Yeah, to my face," I muttered. I'd heard the whispers, everywhere I went in the Institute and everywhere in Salem. It was humiliating. Last week, someone had left a stuffed snake at my door, with a note pinned to it reading, "_For those lonely nights_." Nobody, it seemed, wanted to directly confront me or even really talk to me, except for Inanna and Rhiannon. Even the normally opinionated Moonwillow had come up and tentatively given me a hug one night at the Crystal, before running off with an excuse that he had to attend a rally.

I'd honestly considered moving back to Seattle, 60-hour MegaSoft weeks notwithstanding.

"They know better than to cross me," Rhiannon said. "And it was Erik who left that snake. He was trying to be funny."

"Yeah, really witty," I said. I'd blasted the thing to bits, actually. "Uh, do you think the folks would, uh, I don't know, do a protection ritual for me?" I'd been very leery of asking for any Wiccan favors for the last year or so. Michele and I had only just barely begun speaking to each other again; this was mainly because she thought Evan was just about the cutest thing ever created.

"I thought you'd never ask," Rhiannon said.

* * *

Although I had the Portkey equivalent of a private luxury jet booking, I was still cheap, and thus five of us—myself, Evan, Rhiannon, Inanna, and Inanna's new girlfriend, Rudi—were crammed into the very same Provincetown hotel room that Inanna and I had shared, that long-ago evening before I'd left for England, and Severus, and that magically-fabricated summer. Rather than a stack of trunks, this time, I was taking along a brand-new Ever-Expanding Suitcase, and Evan was proudly toting a backpack crammed with his tiny dress robes and a couple of changes of clothing.

We were passing around a bottle of wine between us—except for Evan, who was watching _The Lion King_ on cable. The overall mood in the room was fairly light-hearted, despite everything. Inanna was going to take my classes for the week. We were going to stay at the Leaky Cauldron and Apparate to the ceremony. I didn't want to be beholden to Lucius for anything more than the Portkey. (Originally, it had been set to land at Malfoy Manor, but I'd changed it.)

After Evan fell asleep during _"Hakuna Matata_," Rhiannon cast a Silencing Charm around his cot and we got down to business.

"So, Macnair is coming to this thing." Rhiannon didn't mess around.

"Well, technically, _**I'm**_ still a Macnair," I said, "but I know that's not what you meant." During my lengthy hiatus in the Magical Witness Protection Program, I had, of course, not been permitted to divorce Walden. I had considered contacting an attorney several times since I returned to Massachusetts, but had always found more important things to do. I sighed, and took a drink of wine. "Yeah, he'll be there. I plan to let him meet Evan and stay in a public place the whole time."

"You really should get a divorce, you know, Rowan. And Erik says that Harry Potter's going to be at the ceremony, so why not try and stick close to him?" Inanna said.

"When'd you talk to Erik?" I asked.

"We saw him last night when Rudi and I went to the Lobster Pot," she said, smiling at her girlfriend.

"And he didn't want to…never mind," I said, grimacing. This confirmed it. I was so far out of the loop that I might as well have been in another galaxy. I felt like that crazy Hogwarts Divination teacher, Trelawney-the one who'd mainly lived in isolation in a tower, but had, during the climactic battle, beaned seven Death Eaters with crystal balls—at least two of them, fatally. (I had noted in a postscript to the _Prophet_ story that she'd retired and moved to California.) I was a relic, an object of curiosity, of pity, and perhaps—for some—of scorn.

"You weren't around!" Inanna said. "You were at Cabot's, buying those robes for Evan." Unfortunately, the wizarding world, even in America, was not likely to get around to the instant connectivity of cell phones, which were nearly ubiquitous in the Muggle world by this point.

"Well, yeah, but…" I let my sentence drift off. I'd certainly kept in communication with Erik, but not recently, and I was slightly annoyed that he hadn't even bothered to talk to me before the trip. "Anyway…yeah…I suppose I could find Potter and stick with him. Not that I even know him," I said. "I'm sure there'll be lots of people wanting to talk with him. Uh…"

"And you have the protective charm we made you. And you didn't bring _that bracelet_," Rhiannon continued.

"You know as well as I do _that bracelet_ is in the NYAF vault. It can stay there forever, as far as I'm concerned." I'd actually considered returning it to Walden, but I didn't even want to pick it up. Erik had suggested selling it and using the proceeds for Evan's college fund and I figured that was as good a plan as any, but that, of course, could wait.

"And you are absolutely sure that you don't, you know, for Macnair, still have…" Rhiannon blushed. It was not a pretty sight. She got blotchy.

"Don't what? Have feelings for him?" Rhiannon wasn't really looking at me, though, so I glanced over at Rudi and Inanna, who'd decided to start kissing. They did that a lot. I chuckled. "_Come on_, Rhiannon. Do you really think that I'm dead below the waist just because I came back here and the Lizard King bought the farm? And…hello, Spellcrafting 101—you know, all the lust potions and enchanted bracelets in the world can't _really_ create love…at least, not the long-lasting kind. And I've had a _lot_ of time to think about this. I wasn't exactly going to bring it up in the ritual, but…well. He did some truly revolting, horrible things, of course…not to minimize any of that! But…despite everything, I have come to realize that there was a part of me, though, that did truly love Walden, and I don't see what's so wrong with that. In fact, it's really the only good memory I have of all that fucked-up time. I'm not giving it up. I'm just not going to do anything about it."

"I didn't know," Rhiannon said.

"Yeah, well. I didn't realize myself, until I had time alone to think about it. He wasn't such a bad guy, you know, when he wasn't chopping something up, or being manipulated by his Dark master….which wasn't a lot of the time there, especially at the end, mind you! But he could be very generous and considerate and very much of a gentleman, and there were times he never took himself entirely seriously. He had his moments, when he was courting me, and when we were first together, before that jerk came back. Hell, he even apologized for…well, the first time we actually met, and for things he did later. And at the end, right before I left, you know….I almost thought…well, I think _maybe_ he showed a little remorse. So for those moments, and for those apologies, he deserves to meet his son…at least once."

"This is the most you've talked about him to me…well, ever," Rhiannon said.

"This is the most I've talked about him to anyone, since I came back. Even to Inanna," I said, gesturing at the couple, who were trying to quietly sneak out the door. "I figure it's probably way past time, huh?"

"What are you going to do if he—tries something?"

"Well, Maria made this extra charm for me," I said, pulling the strand of beads out from under my shirt collar. "I'm fairly sure none of those guys knows a damn thing about Santeria, so Walden will be completely gobsmacked, and I'll use that time to Apparate us the hell out of there."

"What if he tries to grab Evan?" Rhiannon was like a dog with a particularly tasty bone.

"Evan has a charm, too," I said. "Maria kind of insisted on it. And I've been talking to him about what to do."

"He's excited, isn't he?"

"Yes. He'd stopped asking about his father for a while there. But at the school, you know, they've been talking a lot about the Oak and Holly Kings lately—" Evan attended a magical school that was a new addition to Salem since I'd left.

"And the subject just sort of started coming up again, _nu_?" Rhiannon handed me the wine.

"Yeah. He asked about Severus, too," I said. "And I wasn't sure what to say, but I tried to explain it. I guess it helps that there are an awful lot of broken homes these days, even though I think it sucks," I added.

"Well, we should probably turn in," Rhiannon said. "Five AM will be here before we know it, and those two—" she gestured at the door, "—will just have to deal."


	5. Chapter 5–Should Have Read the Quibbler

DISCLAIMER: J.K. Rowling owns most of the characters and settings here—I own the rest.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story is the final one in the story arc that contains "Dark Redemption" and "Date with an Executioner."

**SPELL-LESS IN SEATTLE  
Chapter 5 – I Should Have Read the Quibbler**

_**October 1999, London, England**_

Evan and I landed (rather softly) on a carpeted dais in a private room in the Portkey Office in Diagon Alley. I handed the parchment to the tired-looking Portkey wizard (whose eyebrows rose when he glanced at it), then I took Evan's hand and we headed toward the Cauldron. Glancing quickly around, I saw that the street had changed greatly from when I'd been there last. Businesses that I didn't recognize were in familiar settings, and I didn't see anyone that I immediately recognized strolling past any windows.

"Well, looks like you two posh travelers made it safely," I heard, from behind me, in an unmistakably New York accent.

"Erik!" I shouted. He dashed up and gave me a hug. "You don't think I was gonna let you deal with this alone, did you? Hey, kid!" he added, ruffling Evan's hair, after which he took my suitcase and Evan's backpack. "Come on, I'm stayin' down there, too. I already checked you guys in, even."

"Are you going to the—" I began, fully expecting to be cut off in the middle of my sentence. Erik didn't disappoint.

"Oh, yeah. It seems the NYAF just **happened** to want to send a representative to this particular shindig. And it just **happened** that I got assigned to this particular duty," he said, and then he began a little tuneless whistle, with a completely guileless expression on his face.

* * *

After we Apparated to the front gates of Malfoy Manor, through the iron latticework, I observed several white peacocks strutting by, and heard the splashing of a fountain. Clearly, the "unpleasantness," as Lucius so euphemistically put it, had either not approached these walls or its traces had been completely eradicated. Knowing Lucius, I voted for the latter.

I heard several "pops" around me and observed other Apparating witches and wizards, all in formal dress. A young black-haired witch, resplendent in robes of green and silver, was carrying a large flower arrangement—the centerpiece of which were four roses, each a Hogwarts house color. She looked slightly familiar, but when she glanced at me, her face showed no signs of recognition. It had been many years, of course, and she'd likely been on the other side of young adulthood when I'd met her. At her side was a short, portly man with a huge, florid face and elaborate mustache, who was wearing brocade dress robes. I recognized him (from the _Prophet_) as Horace Slughorn, the current Head of Slytherin House. I nodded politely at them as I passed by.

When we approached the gates, they swung open silently, and I glanced around for Erik, who'd been a couple of minutes behind us back at the Cauldron, as he'd said he'd left something in his room. When he appeared, we each took one of Evan's hands and followed the crowd to a side garden that I'd not noticed on my previous visits.

In the midst of it, a black marble edifice loomed, and I knew that this was Severus' final resting place. Despite myself, I shivered. Evan, who'd been tired all morning, was loping slowly and staring at the ground. Nodding at Erik, I picked him up and walked quickly toward the chairs that were arranged in front of the mausoleum, taking some seats at the end of a row very near the back. The minute I put Evan in a chair, he fell asleep. I enlarged the chair a bit, conjured a blanket for him, and then turned to Erik, who was standing at the end of the row of chairs and casing the crowd.

"No Macnair yet," he muttered, as he took the chair at the end of the row, next to Evan.

"Well, at least we know where Severus is," I said, nodding at the towering black structure.

"I heard he wasn't actually in there," Erik whispered.

"What do you mean—did they cremate him, or…"

"No! You mean you really don't know?" Erik said. "I never actually liked the guy much, but I felt sorry for him when I found out."

"Erik." I said, staring at him. "If you've got something to tell me…"

"The Dork Lord's friggin' _snake_ attacked him, Rowan! You didn't hear about that?" Erik blurted. The chairs in front of us were starting to fill up with people, and most of them were staring at us. Erik knelt down in front of me, dropped his voice quite a lot, and then repeated, "I read somewhere that after it was all over, there wasn't a whole lot left of him except maybe, uh…well, that it wasn't much bigger than a Galleon, what was left. Uh, I'm sorry. You really _didn't_ know, did you?"

"That part wasn't in the _Prophet_…or maybe I just didn't read it..." I said, feeling completely stupid as my eyes began welling up with tears.

Erik reached in his cloak and pulled out a tasteful flower arrangement in a black vase. "Pretty sure I read it in the _Quibbler_," he muttered, as he handed me the vase. "Uh, this is for the ceremony, courtesy of the NYAF. I've got another one in here somewhere, just from me," he added, as he continued to rummage.

"I can't believe you didn't **tell** me about that!" I said, trying—and failing, to wipe away the tears with my robe sleeve.

"I thought everyone knew!" he snapped. "Oh, here it is," and he withdrew a large bouquet of lilies wrapped with a green-and-silver bow. "Figured the Count deserved something decent," he muttered. "Oh, and uh, here," he said, handing me a large handkerchief.

"Oh Goddess, I can't **believe** he…" my voice drifted off as I wiped my eyes. We both sort of contemplated things for a moment, not looking at each other and watching Evan as he slept. Finally, I glanced up at a group of witches and wizards moving toward the front of the massed chairs. _Poor Severus_, I thought. _He'd really been quite the tragic hero_.

"Yeah, that snake was getting quite the culinary workout those last few months, is what I heard," whispered Erik, as he straightened the bow on the bouquet, which had gotten a bit crumpled.

And then I felt something, perhaps a vibration, perhaps some infinitesimal shifting of air to my right. Someone was clearly sitting down there…it was a wizard, and he was wearing a tartan kilt, and the pattern was familiar, oh Gods yes it was, because Evan was wearing a scarf of the very same one…he'd insisted on it when I told him what his father would likely be wearing.

_Well,_ _into the valley of death rode the six hundred_, I thought, and turned to the wizard, who hadn't said anything yet, and said, "Hello, Walden." He was as handsome as he ever had been.

"Hello, Rowan, me lass," he said, turning toward me, taking my hand and kissing it. "Why are ye sittin' all the way back here?"

It was a good question. I felt Erik bristling next to me. "Auror Gundarsson," Walden said, nodding at him. To their credit, both wizards were being extremely polite, for the moment.

"Uh, I thought it'd be better, what with…" I gestured at Evan, who'd turned on his side, but was still asleep, clutching his stuffed dragon. "You know. In case he wakes up or something. I wanted to, er, be polite and respectful and all. I mean, I'm sure Lucius wants this to be really nice. For his friend." I was babbling.

"Well, he _was_ yer husband, though," Walden said, nodding up at the massive mausoleum. He reached over me and tucked Evan's blanket over his shoulders, smiling a bit as he noticed the tartan scarf. He started to put his arm around me, but withdrew when he noted Erik glaring at him.

"And I've just found out that he's not _exactly in there_, which makes this a complete formality. And, er, you know, in case you forgot or something…I was actually handfasted to Severus, and we did dissolve that, but I'm fairly sure that you and I are still married," I added. And then I blushed. Oh Gods, why couldn't I ever learn to shut up?

"Aye, we are," Walden confirmed, and then he winked. Erik was bristling so hard he was about to start spitting porcupine quills. "Well, Lucius was hoping ye'd say somethin' during the dedication, but ye doona have to. And what do ye mean; he isn't '_exactly in there'_?"

"Don't you read the _Quibbler_?" I asked.

"Nay, just the _Prophet_, and I havena read that for a while. It doesna really matter where his corpse is, anyway, does it?"

"Uh, I guess not," I said, "And I really haven't the slightest effing idea what to say," I replied, sniffing a bit. Erik's handkerchief was crumpled and soaked at this point.

My relationship with Severus hadn't been public knowledge, of course. To make things worse, there had been a horrible Rita Skeeter story, which had even crossed the pond and been serialized in _Magical People._ It had been very popular among a lot of the young witches at the Institute—it recounted, in excruciating detail, all about how Severus had been Utterly and Completely in Lurve with Lily Potter until the day he died a hero. I, on the other hand, considered myself to have been somewhat less than heroic in my dealings with Severus. Further, I had completely bought the elaborate fictional backstory concocted by Severus and Lucius (accompanied by Lucius' financial and magical backing) that he was a wealthy Pureblood heir, rather than a 'half-blood prince' from a lower-class factory town…a fact that I'd learned from Walden. Not to mention which he'd never actually bothered to mention Lily to me…I'd had to hear _that_ story from Walden, as well! Severus had been extremely private and secretive from the very beginning, though. Eventually I'd been glad that I'd read Skeeter's story, painful as it was, because it did explain why he'd always been so annoyed with Potter—something I'd always wondered about.

None of that seemed fitting to recount at an empty, symbolic gravesite.

Walden, after giving me a long, undecipherable look, reached in his sporran and handed me a large handkerchief. Now I had two. "Look, if nobody minds, I'd really rather stay back here," I finished.

"No' a problem for me, I wasna fond of Snape, as ye weel ken," Walden said, and leaned back in his chair, making himself comfortable. _That was an understatement_, I thought.

"Macnair, are you planning to stick around? Because, you know, you've said your bit, and I think the Death Eater section is up in front there," and Erik pointed, but not with his forefinger.

"Aye, I was plannin' on it," Walden replied, not looking in the least bit offended. "Ye dinna mind, do ye, lass?" and he raised his eyebrows at me.

That was just the problem. I didn't mind at all.

"Uh, no. Erik, there's not a problem here. Let's all just, uh, try to get along, shall we? This isn't about us."

Just as I finished this remark, someone stopped at our row. Erik, at this point, had started huffing, and not very quietly.

"Well, Rowan, I must admit, when the Portkey Office informed me you'd made the trip, I was actually rather surprised. I'm certainly delighted to see you again, although I'd have preferred different circumstances, as I'm sure you would as well." Lucius extended his hand. I stood up and took it. Walden stood up beside me. Erik stayed in his seat and continued huffing, especially when Lucius kissed my hand in the air directly overhead him, and bowed. As he did that, I felt Walden's hand touching the small of my back, protectively. I nearly jumped in the air at the heat of it.

_Oh Gods the memories…those long, long nights with the two of them at the Revels…_my jaw dropped just a bit and I took a shuddering breath. Lucius noticed; he quirked his eyebrow ever-so-slightly. And Walden noticed, as well, because he didn't move his hand. All of us stood there in a silent and uncomfortable, yet socially appropriate, tableau for a minute.

It was at that point that Erik decided to have a coughing fit…or something.

"Do you require assistance, sir?" Lucius said, looking down at him. Erik stood up. "I don't think so," he snapped.

Someone had to step in, and, as usual, it was me. "Er, Lucius, I'd like you to meet Auror Erik Gundarsson, who is here on behalf of the New York Auror Force," I stammered. "Erik, this is Mr. Lucius Malfoy, our host for today."

"Ah!" Lucius schmoozed. "Well, it is certainly my pleasure to welcome you to Malfoy Manor, Auror Gundarsson. I'd be honored if you, as a representative of that august body, would accompany Mr. and Mrs. Macnair and their son to the front section, as we're about to begin proceedings."

I didn't think I'd ever seen Erik turn that particular shade of purple before. Lucius more or less had him by the short hairs, and there wasn't a whole lot he could do without causing an embarrassing public scene.

As Lucius and Walden led us up toward a roped-off section in the front that sported nicer and larger chairs, I whispered to Erik (who had picked up Evan, probably in an attempt to calm himself down), "Now you know the pleasure of being screwed by a Slytherin. Maybe you'll be a little more sympathetic?"

"_Never_," and then he added a little growl at the end. "I'm not letting you out of my **sight**, do you hear me!"


	6. Chapter 6 – Back in the Saddle Again

DISCLAIMER: J.K. Rowling owns most of the characters and settings here—I own the rest.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story is the final one in the story arc that contains "Dark Redemption" and "Date with an Executioner."

**SPELL-LESS IN SEATTLE  
Chapter 6 – Back in the Saddle Again**

I don't remember the exact details of the ceremony, or the numerous speeches, but they were printed in the _Prophet_ the next day for posterity. When audience members were asked to add their own remembrances, I chose not to speak.

Nobody specifically mentioned Death Eaters, Lord Voldemort, or his ravenous snake. (Although I later found out that what Erik had heard was not true, Rita Skeeter's coverage of the event nevertheless stated '..._and of course, despite that ever-so-touching ceremony, simply __**everyone**__ knows that since the Dark Lord's snake snacked on Severus Snape that the remains contained in the crypt at Malfoy Manor are nothing more than a small sampling of snake stool that is no larger than a Snitch._')

There was, however, lots of talk about "years of service" and "fierce principles" and "loyalty," and one speaker even obliquely touched on Severus' tragic unrequited love for Lily Potter. When that last part was mentioned, Erik nudged me and looked pointedly down at the bouquet of lilies in his hand.

"Classy," I whispered to him.

There was a formal procession, during which we all left our flowers in front of the mausoleum. At the last moment, when neither Erik nor Walden were watching, I strung the necklace that Severus had given me (to which I'd added my handfasting ring) around the bouquet before I set it with the others, with a sense of finality and relief. We were then urged in the direction of a large, leather-bound guestbook (which I signed as "Madame Rowan Hawthorne of the Salem Witches' Institute," because Erik was watching me rather closely at that point.)

But the most touching moment of the afternoon was near the very end of the ceremony, after we'd left our flowers. A ripple of surprise moved through the crowd as Harry Potter ascended to the podium, a huge brown-paper-wrapped package next to him. After he spoke—and he was very complimentary—he opened the package to reveal a magical portrait of Severus, in the academic robes that he'd loved so well, and explained that he'd be taking it to the Headmaster's Office at Hogwarts, where it would hang on the wall, right next to Dumbledore's portrait.

At this last part, I grabbed both handkerchiefs, and I needed them. Walden put his arm around me. Seeing this, Erik made a strangled noise, something like a growl. Everyone was applauding, so nobody heard him.

After that, Lucius stood up and gave a very polite sort of dismissal, with his wife and son standing at his side, and folks stood up and started milling around. Most headed back toward the gates, and I noticed more than a few Disapparations right from the grounds, which I didn't think was possible—likely, Lucius had bent his own rules for the occasion. Somehow, Evan had slept through the entire thing. I envied him. I wasn't sure what to do, as I couldn't exactly go anywhere, as Walden hadn't moved his arm, and he hadn't gotten any weaker over the years.

Fortunately, Lucius reappeared. "I'd like you all to stay, if you would. We'll be having a small reception—drinks and hors d'oeuvres, you know—a chance for a few of us who knew him best to reminisce. Auror Gundarsson, I'm sure you understand that this is only right and proper."

Auror Gundarsson looked like the only two words he was capable of understanding or uttering at the moment were "_Avada Kedavra_," but he gave a short curt nod of assent, and the next thing I knew, Walden had taken my arm and helped me up, and we were all being escorted into Malfoy Manor. Narcissa Malfoy glided up next to me and asked if she might see to Evan, perhaps he might like a nap in the nursery?

I agreed, so that is how I found myself back in one of the numerous first-floor parlors of the Manor, in which I was almost positive I'd been served dessert and coffee at one of the Revels. In fact, there was even a house-elf holding a very similar tray to that evening, and yes, the lady would like some wine, thank you very much. (_In fact, the lady would like two glasses…on second thought, why not leave the entire tray?_)

During all this, neither Walden nor Erik had left my side; the former was constantly touching me, as if to reassure himself I was really there, and the latter was giving hate stares to just about everyone, but most especially Walden. It really wasn't one bit fun. I gulped down my wine as if I'd heard the grape was becoming extinct. I was wondering what I'd do if, or, more likely when, I'd need to run to the ladies' room (I remembered exactly where it was, too—the last time I'd visited it, there'd nearly been a duel outside it, and I was afraid that the same thing might well happen again.).

When the elf came around with another tray, Lucius reappeared. "Auror Gundarsson, there are some Ministry officials who'd very much like to speak with you, right over here," and he attempted to sweep Erik away with him. Erik wasn't thrilled at this development. He stared over his shoulder at me until he nearly tripped over two elves who had a tray of biscuits between them, and red-faced, shook a finger at me and mouthed something that looked an awful lot like "STAY RIGHT THERE, DAMMIT."

"Your guard dragon needs to leave us alone for a bit, sweet lassie," Walden growled, as he turned me in the opposite direction and propelled me toward a window seat. "I need tae talk with ye."

"Walden, I…do you really think that's a good idea? I'm going to be leaving here right away once this is over with. And I'll be going back to Massachusetts at the end of the week. Perhaps we should continue our conversation with the help of a law—er, a solicitor." I was not, absolutely **not** going to pay attention to the heat rising from his body, or the hand that was holding mine, or the fact that he was wearing the absolutely sexiest great kilt that I had ever seen in my life. (I'd been studiously avoiding all things Scottish since my departure from his lodge. It was truly amazing how many times "Highlander" and "Braveheart" were shown on cable, for one…and I still refused to view either.)

"We doona need tha'. I know why ye left, and I canna blame ye; I told ye then I didna. It's all over now, though, lass, and ye and Evan need to come back. I want tae take care of ye." He moved closer to me on the window seat. He even smelled of the same soap or cologne or whatever he used to wear. (_Eau de Voldie_? I thought.)

Oh boy. He was definitely "trying something," as Rhiannon had said. I grabbed the Santeria beads and held onto them, trying to remember what Maria had told me to say to activate the charm, and was unable to do so. They warmed up a bit in my hand, though.

"Do ye still love me?" he asked.

He certainly wasn't beating around the bush; he always had been rather direct. I sat down my glass of wine on a marble tabletop. I saw no point in lying to him. "Walden, I—I did love you, and very much. I would have stayed if you hadn't…well, you know. Or do you know? Do you actually remember that day I left?" The Memory Charm I had cast was one of the most powerful spells I'd ever performed.

"Aye, I remember. Lucius and I broke the charm, the one ye did on me tha' afternoon." He paused for a moment, and then took my hand in his. "I was wrong, lass," he said. "I was terribly wrong tae let that happen to ye, and I wish I could take it all back, but I canna, I can only try to make things right for us now." He looked down. "I want to help raise Evan. He needs to know his family. I want to take ye back to the lodge, it was horrid when ye left, I was so lonely every night. I left everythin' just the way ye had it, Evan's room and yer clothes and all. And when I was in Azkaban, I kept livin' that week over and over, that Revel…then the day ye left…"

Oh, Gods, that Revel…and I'd left behind the dress robes I'd worn to previous Revels…those were the only clothes I'd actually left, I recalled. And Evan's room….with that dragon we'd painted on the wall, and all the books we'd bought for him in Hogsmeade. I had left those particular items on purpose to enrage Walden, and that strategy had clearly worked. This was definitely the worst day I'd spent since—well, since I'd left Scotland. Tears were streaming down my cheeks for what seemed like the millionth time that day. I seriously wanted to leave. Why had I ever thought that coming back here was a good idea? I couldn't have gotten closure in America, maybe with a psychiatrist or something? And worst of all, Walden was still talking, and he was getting closer to me, his arm around my shoulder, his lips close to my ear…

"…I love ye, lass, and I still need ye so bad, I canna stand it, I want ye, right now," he whispered, as he kissed my cheek lightly. "I want to taste ye and I want to take ye..." He kissed my mouth and I, ever-so-barely, kissed him back, and I wanted more, everything he was suggesting, and more, right there, right on the window seat in view of everyone, I didn't care. It had literally been years. He groaned in my ear. "Sweet lass, please come with me upstairs, I'll Apparate us, just for a little while, I willna last long, but I'll give ye as much pleasure as I can." He started to slide my hand under his kilt. And I did think about it then, quite seriously…and just before I touched him, Maria's charm abruptly shot off a huge spark, and Walden inhaled sharply in surprise.

"What the hell was tha'?" He stood up and took both my hands in his. "If ye're going to go back, ye'd better go now, because if ye stay for much longer I'll be wanting to grab ye and take ye up tae the lodge right now, I will, that Auror be damned!"

"How…you can't Apparate out of here," I said. I was fairly sure that I remembered that much about the Manor. One could Apparate between certain rooms, with approval, but not directly in or out of the place. It was labyrinthine, and very, very Slytherin.

"I _can_, Lucius told me how tae do it," he growled. "And Evan's with Narcissa. So tell me now—do ye still want me? I want ye so bad I could burst, but I canna take ye against yer will, I did that before and I know it was wrong."

_At least he'd realized __**that**__ much_, I thought. "Walden—I—I can't answer that right this second! This has been a hell of a day! I haven't seen you in years, I just found out all that stuff about Severus, and….really!" I had to push him away, as he was trying to lean in for another kiss. "Stop that! Erik will—"

"I'll do what? Macnair, whatever you're doing to upset the lady, I'd suggest you stop it right **now**," Erik barked, having apparently escaped from Malfoy and the politicos.

"Erik, we're just…talking over old times," I said, quickly moving away from Walden. "It's really time to go now, don't you think? Why don't you go and see if you can find Evan? I think he's with Mrs. Malfoy."

"Sounds dynamite," Erik growled, and he stalked off.

"That's yer answer, is it, lass?" Walden asked, his eyes downcast, still holding my hands in his. "This is it, then?"

"Walden, you know as well as I do that this is a terrible time to try and have this discussion," I said. "Why haven't you written to me?"

"I didna want to upset ye. I asked Lucius to tell ye I'd be at the ceremony," he said. "I've been stayin' here, ye know."

"So I heard. Something about your recuperation? Surely you could have done that at St. Mungo's?"

He released my hands and sat back down next to me on the window seat. "St. Mungo's was full, and Lucius offered space to…well, to those on our side who were left alive after everythin' was, ye know, over. After, he, ye know, the Dark Lord was killed, it was…" he held a hand to his forehead. "It was…I almost canna describe it." He bit his lip as I had seen him do many times before, when he was unsure of how to proceed.

"What do you mean?"

"I was injured in the battle at the school, by Hagrid, did ye know?"

"No, I hadn't heard about that," I said. Clearly, I was ill-informed, but I had deliberately not read much of the details of the battle (other than the aforementioned sidebar story about Madame Trelawney, which I'd very much enjoyed), in the lengthy special Victory Edition of the _Prophet_. In fact, I'd burned my copy of the paper underneath a massive pile of sage in the fireplace at my old Seattle house just before leaving for New York, after establishing for myself that Voldemort was really gone once and for all.

"He told me it was because of the giants," Walden said. "Bringin' them tae Scotland, and usin' them at the battle…Golgomath, that is, and his followers, the ones that wanted revenge on the wizards who'd driven them out o' the country. And because of Buckbeak, although ye _know_ I didna even kill the beast! He didna bother with any spells—saw me duelin', came runnin' up to me faster than the Hogwarts Express, grabbed me wand, tossed it away, punched me in the gut and then threw me against a wall. Never knew he was _that_ strong…felt like I'd been hit by a million Bludgers…thought I was going to die. Avery got me wand, dragged me out of there, and did a Healing Charm on me, no' a very good one. And at the end, when the Dark Lord, when he, ye know, when Potter killed him?"

"Yes?" I was staring at him in rapt attention. Despite everything, it was a damn good story.

"All of us were hit at once with…somethin', my arm felt like it was going to burn up and fall off right there, and Avery's spell just…rolled off me like he'd never cast it, and I was lyin' there, feelin' like I was going to die again. I was there for a long while. When they started cleanin' up, Hagrid came up and looked down at me, said his piece, shook his head, and walked off. I didna take it personally. Crabbe and Goyle came back to get me and we came here tha' night and I've been here ever since…I think Crabbe lost his son in the battle," he added.

"We _all_ lost something, Walden, because of Voldemort," I said. "You know that."

Walden visibly flinched when I said the name. "He…he made me do things I didna want to do. He had the Imperius on all of us, you know, all the time."

"Oh, come on! Isn't that what you said the first time around, back in the 80s? I remember you telling me that, one of those nights in London, at the hotel!"

He looked at me then, and he smiled, just a bit, and he took my hand. "That's nae all I remember telling ye those nights, sweet lass," he murmured. I would not be swayed, though. I wouldn't!

"Oh, _I_ remember it all! That Curse story's how you got out of Azkaban, that's what you said to Fudge, to confess! That's how you got your job at the Ministry!" I knew exactly what he meant, of course, but was doing my best to not remember the rest of the things that had happened at that hotel, all the nights we'd gone there…_oh Gods, the hours and hours we'd spent in each other's arms, so intense, so unforgettable…that was when he'd first said he loved me, in fact…his words of love and his passion so sweet and yet painful to remember…_The charm around my neck burned in a way rather similar and yet different to how my own Mark had.

"Aye, that was all true, but this was worse, it was worse when he came back…he did things to us, through th' Mark. I didna remember doing things, I'd wake up and not remember entire nights of it, sometimes…" and he absently glanced down at his left arm. I wondered if it was nearly blank, as mine was. I remembered looking at the traces of my Mark during the years when I was in Seattle, and how, after the Dark Lord had been killed, it had rapidly started to fade away. (Mine hadn't exactly been what we at MegaSoft would have called the "premier version," anyway.)

"Yeah, well, he did things to me **without** the Mark, probably on one of those nights, _if_ you remember," I said.

"I remember," answered Walden, and he didn't look at me. "I told ye before. I never wanted tha' to happen to ye."

"Well, then you remember why I left, and why I'm going to be leaving right now." Something had taken me over—it was likely a result of the charm, and I knew it was time to go, and not just because I'd spotted the rapidly-approaching Erik over Walden's shoulder, holding Evan's hand. "If you want to contact me, Lucius knows where to send the owl."

I stood up and wrenched my hand out of his, stood up, and turned toward Erik. Without another word, the three of us walked right out of the door and then out of the gates of Malfoy Manor. The second we were outside the gates, Erik Apparated us back to Diagon Alley.

* * *

At the end of the week, as we were packing our bags to leave the next morning, something was bothering me. I was forgetting something important, and I couldn't figure out what it was. I looked through my purse and suitcase, I checked all available surfaces, and I still couldn't figure out what it was. We'd gone to the service for Severus (at which I'd disposed of the jewelry), we'd visited all the shops in Diagon Alley, and we'd seen a bit of Muggle London. Erik had departed two days prior, as a case he was working on had suddenly been reopened.

To make things worse, Evan was whiny and cranky. He was still apparently suffering Portkey lag, just as he had during most of the trip. It hadn't helped much that he'd slept through the entire previous afternoon, starting in the middle of the British Museum tour—

That was it. He'd slept through the ceremony at Malfoy Manor, meaning that he hadn't gotten to meet his father, one of the reasons I'd come here in the first place.

I sat down on the corner of the bed and sighed. There was no way around it; I was just going to have to contact Walden. And I was going to have to postpone our trip back for a few days. I administered a small Sleep Charm to Evan and trudged downstairs.

The efficient front desk clerk was able to help me by sending out all the necessary owls, but I missed Tom, the friendly barkeep who had been a fixture at the Cauldron when I lived on Diagon Alley. I'd discovered quickly upon my return to London that it was just not done in the post-Voldemort wizarding world to ask about anyone's current whereabouts, and I fervently hoped that Tom had merely quietly retired to the country or something.

While I was waiting for the return owls, I read a book and had a quick lunch, coffee, and dessert. The Portkey rescheduling was exceedingly seamless, considering that the trip had been arranged by Lucius. I wasn't going to bother waiting for a return owl from Salem—Inanna never minded teaching my classes for an extra day or two. The return owl from Malfoy Manor concerning Walden's whereabouts, however, was a bit disquieting, unfortunately. I decided not to worry, though, and headed back to the room, where I found that Evan had woken up, and he was looking at one of the picture books on the seasons that he'd bought at his school book fair.

"Evan," I said, "It looks like we're going to stay here for a couple more days. There's something important we have to do."

"What do we have to do, Mommy?"

"Well, we're going to meet your father," I said. "I saw him a couple of days ago when we went to that big house, but you were asleep most of the time."

"I liked that house, Mommy! They had a giant stuffed dragon and lots of books. And the lady there was very pretty and nice," he gushed. _Narcissa was likely gearing up for imminent Malfoy grandchildren,_ I thought. And of course, he'd been awake for _that_ part of things…I was beginning to suspect that multiple Slytherins had possibly administered surreptitious Sleep Charms in order to keep me at the Manor as long as possible. "She said I could come back whenever I wanted!" _I just bet she did_, I thought. "Are we going to meet my daddy there?"

"Well, we're not going back there right now, he's going to come here," I said. The problematic owl from Lucius had stated that that Walden had gone up to his lodge the night after the ceremony, and wasn't responding to owls, so he'd have to go and get him, but he would get here as soon as possible, within two hours at the latest.

* * *

Walden sat down heavily on a couch and dropped his head into his hands after Rowan walked out of the door with the Auror and his son. Lucius, observing the scene, appeared at his side instantly.

"I didna even get to meet me son," Walden said, as he grabbed blindly toward the drinks tray. Without paying attention to what he'd taken, he slammed the drink down his throat and reached for another.

"It appears our plan didn't exactly work the way we'd hoped," Lucius drawled, draping himself over the couch. "No matter, we'll just try again, right, old chap?"

"Nay," Walden said, and he stood up. "I'm leaving, I'm going to me lodge like I told ye before." The house-elf, still standing there with the drinks tray, blinked up at the large man, and then lifted the tray up once more. Walden grabbed another drink, drained it, and put the empty on the tray.

"You can't do that, we've got to all stay here together, as we've discussed on numerous occasions. I have been tasked to watch over you by the Ministry, and if you go gadding about the country, the Gods only know what will happen to you…Azkaban or worse! So, go and have something to eat and I'll come and talk with you later. Or you can talk to Narcissa. You don't need to be up there alone, Walden, it's not good for you," Lucius said.

"Nay, I _said_ I'm going to me lodge, whether it's _good_ for me or nae," Walden growled, and he grabbed his wand from his pocket.

"Your lodge is closed up; don't you remember when you and I did that? There's no food or supplies, it's probably freezing, and—"Lucius stopped, not quite saying that it was full of memories that were best not refreshed. While attempting to distract the Auror, he'd glimpsed Rowan rebuffing Walden's amorous advances with some sort of very unfamiliar spell.

"The elves will come over from the castle and bring me food and I doona care if it's cold," Walden said. And then he muttered some words that almost sounded musical from a language that the Malfoy ancestors had spoken, somewhere in a fairy mound at the dawn of time. And there was a shimmer and he Disapparated with a loud pop.

"Oh, bugger it all!" cursed Lucius.

* * *

Two hours can seem like a minute, but with a cranky, Portkey-lagged child, it can seem like an eternity. We'd gotten cleaned up, looked through all the picture books twice, and then I'd told Evan a bit about his father. Now, we were sitting side-by-side on the bed, and I was about to try and read my copy of _The Middle Pillar_ to Evan, figuring that all the explanations would take up some more time.

Then, the knock sounded on our door.

"Is that Daddy?!" Evan jumped up and ran to the door before I could stop him. I ran behind him and unlatched the lock and opened the door slowly. Walden stood in the hall, with Lucius behind him. Lucius' wand was leveled at his back. I had the feeling some sort of barely legal Imperius Curse variant had been performed recently; there was an unpleasant shimmer and a rather sour aroma in the air.

"Lass?" croaked Walden. He was unshaven and his hair and mustache were messy. And the sour aroma wasn't magically-related at all-he simply smelled bad, like dried whisky-tinged sweat. I'd never seen him like this before.

"Here he is, Rowan. It was dreadful getting him out of that lodge. Send him back to the Manor when you're done, would you?" asked Lucius, in a clipped, extremely annoyed tone of voice, before he Disapparated. Behind me, Evan was jostling to see what was going on.

"What the friggin' hell?" I said. "You have to come in here right now and get cleaned up. You're not talking to your son looking…and, er, smelling like that!" I snapped. "Evan, hold on a minute! Your dad needs to go…" and I raised my wand, pointed it at Walden, and shouted, _Evanesco_. He jumped. The cleaning charm didn't do any appreciable good on him. I shoved him toward the bathroom, Evan tugging on my clothes the whole way. "Hold ON, Evan! He'll be out in a minute!" I yelled. Everything had turned into a complete clusterfuck. Walden was groaning and holding his head, saying "Och, lassie, _please_ doona be so loud!"

"Get in there and get cleaned up and I'll get you a potion! Go on!" I didn't bother with lowering my voice, either. I heard him groaning loudly as I slammed the door.

"When can I talk to Daddy?!" Evan was jumping up and down.

"Evan, your father needs to get cleaned up. He didn't know he'd be visiting us today. Wait here and I'll be right back."

One of the many convenient things about the Cauldron was that they stocked an extensive selection of anti-hangover potions behind the bar. When I got back upstairs, I opened the bathroom door and shoved a bottle of the strongest stuff they had in his general direction and said, "Here. Drink this." I wasn't sure if he'd moved or not. So much for meeting in a public place, I thought. Still, I doubted he'd try anything odd in front of Evan.

In about twenty minutes, Walden stepped out of the bathroom, looking neat and composed as he usually did-a cloud of steam trailing behind him. Evan and I sat in chairs and stared at him.

He knelt down in front of Evan's chair. "Hello, son," he said.

"Daddy?" Evan said, with a questioning look on his face. "Are you going to come and live with us now?"

I groaned and smacked my forehead. He couldn't have asked about the stupid hippogriff first? Walden and Evan both ignored me. "Well, son, that's up to yer mother, but I'd actually prefer it if ye came and lived at my lodge with me."

"What's a lodge? And why do you sound so funny?"

"It's a huntin' lodge—a big house in the woods, that yer great-grandfather built. And ye have a room there—it has a dragon painted on the wall, a Hungarian Horntail. Ye lived in that room when ye were a wee lad, just born." He paused. "Ye think I sound funny? I always thought your mum sounded funny," he added.

I scowled at him. "Your father is from Scotland, Evan. That's why he sounds that way." Evan looked up at me and nodded. His school in Salem was very advanced and I knew that Evan understood. "And no, we're _not_ going to live at the lodge, and your father's _not_ coming to live with us, either."

"Daddy, what's Scotland like? Is it nice? Can I visit you there? Are there dragons there?" Evan blurted.

Walden smiled. "Scotland is verra nice, there are lots of big mountains and forests and rivers and lochs—ye call those lakes—they're full of fish, and there are deer and hares and all sorts of animals. And aye, there are dragons, but they all live at dragon preserves. And aye, ye can visit any time ye want," he said. I gave him a look, and he added, "Uh, as long as yer mum says it's all right. Yer grandmum and grandda wouldna mind, they'd love to see ye."

_Leave it to Walden to mention them_, I thought. Why hadn't Evan asked about the hippogriff, anyway? I wondered if I should bring it up.

"I have a grandma and grandpa?" Evan said, looking at me. "Is that true, Mommy?"

"Yes, Evan," I said, sighing. This was not going well. "Walden, you're going to have to leave. Hug Evan and go," I said, reaching up and grabbing the string of beads around my neck. "I'm sorry."

"But, Mommy," Evan said, "He just got here!"

"I know, but…I think this was a mistake. Maybe we can see him again before we leave. Right now, we have things to do to get ready to go home."

"But, you said we were leaving tomorrow!" Evan began to wail, and before I could stop him, he'd run over to Walden and thrown his arms around his neck. Walden hugged him but looked very miserable while doing so.

"Walden," I said, looking at him. "Enough. Come on, let's take Evan for some ice cream and then you can say goodbye."

"I DON'T WANT MY DADDY TO LEAVE!" Evan screamed. "I WANT TO GO WITH HIM AND SEE THE DRAGONS AND GRAMMA AND GRANDPA!" _Oh, good Goddess_, I thought.

"Lass, can I stay a bit longer? I can walk Evan down to get the ice cream and bring him back…we can look at some of the shops. Just give me an hour with him!" Walden asked, a plaintive tone in his voice.

"No," I snapped. "We're both going out, and then you're leaving, and that's final."

* * *

Lucius Malfoy, who was sitting in his parlor in front of the fire enjoying a brandy, heard a large crash and the patter of elf feet. He jumped up, being careful to set down the snifter on a nearby table, and dashed for the front door.

He was surprised to see that Walden, who was kicking at the Manor's front door, trying to get out, had caused the disturbance. Lucius was sure that after Walden had returned from the unsuccessful trip to Diagon Alley that he'd given him more than enough sleeping potion to knock out an Erumpent, in addition to Stunning him. The entire house-elf staff of ten, plus Draco (who was visiting for the week) and Lucius, had been required to move him upstairs. Apparently, neither tactic had worked, as Walden was very much awake and very, very enraged.

"I told ye before, I'm _nae_ stayin' here, Lucius!" Walden roared. And he muttered the charm to lower the wards. Nothing happened. He then kicked the front door again. Brute force worked where magic had not—it swung open.

"I changed the bloody passwords," Lucius drawled. "And leave my bloody door alone! Stop being ridiculous and go back upstairs to your suite," and with that he patted Walden on the shoulder. "The elves will bring you food and you'll feel better in no time."

"I'll _never_ feel better if I stay here," and, shoving Lucius' hand away, Walden sprinted through the open door, shoving past the surprised elves who had headed over to close it. He was outside and past the front gates in a matter of seconds.

"Blast it all, I forgot to change the gate wards!" Lucius huffed, as he attempted to catch up with Walden. All those _hors d'oeuvres_, _petit fours_, and soft living had taken their toll, though. Lucius was not in any sort of shape. As he approached the gate, he heard Walden yell, "And doona come after me again, laddie!" just before he Disapparated.

"I give up," sighed Lucius, "I have enough troubles of my own without this…I'll worry about him after I get my family's affairs in better order," he muttered to himself, trudging back up to the Manor slowly as he tried to regain his breath.

He'd managed to use the very last bit of his Ministry influence to keep Crabbe, Goyle, Avery and Walden out of Azkaban, by insisting that he was sure they'd all been Imperiused yet again ("_Not that one could ever tell much of a difference with Crabbe and Goyle_," he confided to Narcissa one night.). He also convinced the judge that he'd keep his friends under a _de facto_ 'house arrest' for the foreseeable future. Since that time, Crabbe and Goyle had both chosen to emigrate to New Zealand, and Avery was off doing supervised community service at St. Mungo's. As it was widely known that Walden had not participated in much of the Battle of Hogwarts due to first corralling the giants and then his unfortunate dust-up with Hagrid, the charges against him had been (very) slightly reduced.

After discovering that Walden and Rowan were not divorced and that Walden still carried a substantial torch for her, Lucius planned to use Rowan's relative respectability as a leg back up into society, but he'd find another way. Malfoys always found loopholes. They'd escaped from the final battle more or less unscathed, hadn't they, thanks to Potter? Lucius had made sure to make his gratitude well and publicly known as soon as possible, without seeming too opportunistic. After all, it was important to pay one's debts promptly; and, rearranging finances at the Connecticut estate in order to obtain funds to dedicate a new wing of St. Mungo's to Potter's parents had solved more than one pressing problem.

Further, thanks to Narcissa, he'd eventually managed to convince Potter to speak at Severus' memorial service, at the Manor, even, two years after he and his family had been incarcerated there by the Pretender! He'd not even had to arrange Severus' portrait; Potter had done that all on his own!

He was clearly going to have to rethink Draco's arranged marriage to the Parkinson girl. Maybe there was a biddable Ravenclaw available…or even a Hufflepuff would do, that Diggory boy had been a Badger, after all, and it never hurt to forge inter-house alliances. A beautiful girl would be best, of course, to appease the fae and Veela ancestors, but one who came with a substantial dowry would be even better (and magical makeovers came easy with Galleons). Perhaps he could liase with Rowan's friends somehow, in order to aid Walden's cause surreptitiously? A girl with blameless Colonial relatives would be ideal.

And thus, by the time he'd re-installed himself in front of his fireplace with a brandy, Lucius had figured things out, more or less, so when the old house-elf dressed in plaid came to his door, he wasn't too perturbed…


	7. Chapter 7 –Chop Wood, Carry Water

DISCLAIMER: J.K. Rowling owns most of the characters and settings here—I own the rest.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story is the final one in the story arc that contains "Dark Redemption" and "Date with an Executioner."

**SPELL-LESS IN SEATTLE  
Chapter 7 –****Chop Wood, Carry Water**

Walden Apparated outside the woods surrounding his hunting lodge, in the exact same spot that Lucius had dragged him earlier that day, after his attempts to break through Walden's wards had failed. He chuckled a bit at his erstwhile friend's frustration, and then walked up to the lodge's front door. Malfoy hospitality was beyond compare, but it wasn't home. His previous week here had been a bit disturbing (not that he remembered much of it, through the whiskey-soaked haze), but the elves had brought him some supplies from the castle.

First on the menu this time round would be whiskey, followed by some food, and then maybe another bath…and then he'd think about what to do, if he was capable of thinking after the amount of whiskey he planned to consume. Plus, after having just seen Rowan, there was a rather urgent need that he'd take care of privately…probably more than once. The bath would be an ideal place for that…they'd always enjoyed bathing together. _Och!_ he thought, as he recalled some of those occasions, _I'd better just take care of things straightaway so that I can relax._

He shoved the door open and walked into the dim, cold entrance hall, and used his wand to light the candelabra.

"Binkus?" he called. The old house-elf came trotting up. "Yes, Master Walden?"

"Bring me some whiskey!" he snapped, trying not to sound desperate.

The house-elf cast his eyes downward. "Master Walden, sir, we is not having any left."

"What! Well, go get some, then. Get some Galleons out of the household accounts!"

"Sir, we is not having any of those left either," Binkus replied, wringing his hands.

"Er, what do ye mean?" he asked. There was a chest in the lodge's kitchen that was kept perpetually full by arrangement, and he'd just been here earlier that day.

"Master Gavin is moving all those things back to the castle," Binkus said, quietly. It was then that Walden noticed there was a fire crackling in the fireplace, and a pair of Wellington boots sitting next to the door.

"Then, go to the castle and tell Master Gavin to move me things bloody back!" Walden roared.

"He'll do nae such thing!" Gavin shouted, from his chair in front of the fire. "And ye're comin' with me, son, back to the castle as well!"

"Da?" Walden approached his father. He hadn't changed much since Walden had last seen him…and when was that, anyway, sometime after Evan had been born? He'd avoided his parents as much as possible after the Dark Lord's return. Gavin greatly resembled Walden in that he was tall and muscular, but his hair and mustache were white. "What are ye doin' here?"

"I'm doin' what I should hae done years ago! As I said, ye're comin' with me, ye'll do some honest work, and ye'll remember what it means to be part of this family!"

"Doona be silly, Da, I'm the Laird," Walden said. "Ye canna make me do anythin'. Now put me Galleons back and go away!" Before Walden knew it, he was slumped on the floor against the far wall. He couldn't believe it. His own Da had managed to do the same thing that Hagrid had done two years ago at Hogwarts. He groaned. "Da! That hurt!"

"It was meant to! Ye'll not be callin' yerself Laird again until ye're worthy of that title! Now get yer arse up and come with me! Doona try to go back to that stinking Sassenach's place, either!" Gavin wiped his hands on his trews.

"Dinna fash, Da, I wasna plannin' on it," Walden sighed, pulling himself up. "I'll go with ye." He knew better than to argue with Gavin when he was in this sort of mood. Looking down at Binkus, he noticed that the elf was holding his magically-reduced trunk, the one he'd been using at Malfoy Manor…and had left behind in his rush to escape. "Where'd ye get that?"

"I sent him to Malfoy tae get it," Gavin interjected. "I also sent a message that ye'll no' be goin' back there. That fop of a wizard isn't even worth a good buggerin'!" he added, with a scowl.

"Aye, tell me about it," Walden muttered. Not that anything along _those_ lines had been going on recently…there had been no Revels for over three years, since the Dark Lord had taken the Manor as his headquarters, and no future plans for any, according to Lucius.

CRACK! "I doona want to hear about tha' sort of Sassenach foolishness!" Gavin yelled, as he slapped Walden's mouth, hard.

Walden sat down in a chair and rubbed his cheek. One thing was for sure, he was never going to treat Evan this way. He'd been mostly absent during his first son's childhood, in fact, in an effort to prevent such occurrences. He grimly recalled one night when he'd been violent toward Rowan, and he'd really not wanted to be, it was just that she was being difficult. There had possibly been more than one night when he'd done similar things…many of his memories were deficient, especially after the night Lord Voldemort had been reborn in the cauldron outside the Riddle House. That reminded him of Rowan, too, and his own Memory Charms on the lass, and that last, ill-advised Imperio he'd done on her…not that he could have done anything else, though, the Dark Lord would have killed them both on the spot if they'd defied him. He sighed. When had it all gone wrong? Had anything he'd done in his life ever been right?

"Thinkin' about yer wife, are ye? I wouldna blame her if she _never_ came back to ye," Gavin said.

"I know, Da," Walden said. He wasn't planning to cry in front of his Da, like a wee lad, but he was awfully damned close to it. "I tried to get her to come back, but she wouldna listen. An' I've been having these dreams, every night….some lady keeps tellin' me to stay away from her." The last part was very disquieting. The lady looked like the pictures he'd seen down in the village, of a beautiful lady wearing light blue robes standing on a crescent moon…except this lady was African, and she had seashells around her neck. None of it made any sense.

Gavin approached him, a scowl on his face. "Have ye gone daft as well as soft, laddie? She's got some kind of protectin' spirit, sounds like one of the Fair Folk! What did ye expect after ye spelled that bracelet and put it on her? She's a witch, she wasna going to take that sort of treatment for long! Why were ye messin' with yer cousin anyway, ye _ken_ she's never had a good idea in her life!"

"Aye," Walden agreed, ruefully. He wished he'd never told his Da that he'd done that. Honestly, he'd bragged about it, too, attempting to make himself sound like one of the Lairds of long-ago, the brutish men who'd dragged off whatever women they wanted. And, to make things worse, for the last four years, he'd received numerous owls from his cousin, who he knew wanted a repeat performance. The spelling of the bracelet had involved several days of...something very like a Revel, none of which Walden had particularly relished. He'd burned all her letters.

"Och, ye've gotten wrong-headed wastin' all those years with that Sassenach and those Death Eaters, son!" Gavin said, as he walked over and started putting on his Wellingtons. "I'll teach ye again what it's like to be a real man, startin' with some good honest chores. And ye'll talk to your Mum, and she can tell ye what ye need to do to get Rowan back."

"That doesna sound so bad, Da," Walden said. He got up from the chair and retrieved his trunk from Binkus.

"Ye'll hate it," Gavin replied. "And ye'll likely hate me by the time ye leave. But it's for yer own good."

* * *

Walden rubbed at the prison number tattooed on his neck absently, after he'd stacked up the wood. It was now two weeks after the horrible day that Rowan had left for Massachusetts and his Da had shown up at the lodge.

He now knew several things. First, he was sadly out of shape, even considering the amount of hiking and Quidditch playing that he'd done over the years while working at the Ministry. Second, he missed Rowan even worse than he had missed her when she'd taken Evan and left the lodge, four years prior…because his memories, the ones suppressed when Riddle had been reborn, had all nearly come back, and he remembered their courtship and affair in great detail, nearly every minute. The constant replay reminded him a lot of his time in Azkaban. And worst of all, as his Da had predicted, he did in fact hate him, and those feelings had slowly ripened into utter loathing.

It was a good thing that Gavin had done what the Ministry had not, and confiscated his wand the minute they arrived at the castle. _A very good thing indeed_, Walden thought, as he stared at the load of split firewood sitting by the back door of the castle, _because if he hadn't, I might well have AK'd him the first day, then owled that sodding Auror telling him just to take me back to Azkaban and have done!_ Soon, the house-elves would take over, distributing the wood it to the 15 fireplaces in the castle. Normally, Gavin would have completed the entire winter firewood-foraging process in a couple of leisurely days by using magic, but this year was a different story.

Rather than one of the guestrooms, Walden had been installed in his boyhood room at the castle—which still sported an aging Slytherin banner and a Puddlemere United poster attached to the walls, and a single bed. To complete the humiliation, every morning, he was woken at 5 am by some awful Muggle device that hurt his ears. After a quick bath and breakfast, he was sent out to bring back firewood with nothing but an old, slightly rusty axe and a small canvas sling.

The irony of this job was not lost on Walden one bit.

The most humiliating part of the entire process was that if he didn't bring back enough wood, his Da thrashed him as if he was a wee lad! The first night, when Walden protested at this, he was actually sent to bed with no supper.

After that, he kept his mouth shut. Neither his Da nor his Mum spoke to him at the breakfast and supper table (the only times he ever saw them), other than to ask him to pass things. After eating, he'd head up to bed, and then, too soon it always seemed, the entire mind-numbing process would start again.

* * *

Another week of firewood duty passed without incident, and then another. Walden found the task easier each day. He couldn't precisely say that he was enjoying himself, but there was a pleasant feeling to be found in the mindlessness of the chore, and he had always liked the outdoors.

One morning, as he was toting a sling's worth of hewn wood to the door, he saw his Da standing there, next to the rather substantial stack of wood he'd already piled up.

His Da raised his wand and muttered something. The entire stack of wood whizzed right by Walden, headed back toward the forest!

"Ye havena been doing that to _all_ the wood I've been puttin' here, Da, have ye?" Walden blurted, before he realized that maybe he shouldn't have said anything at all.

Five minutes later, he picked himself up off the ground, where his Da had left him. He dusted himself off, cursing as it appeared that, yet again, he was hurting in all the places that he'd ached for a year after Hagrid had knocked him out. Gavin had yelled, as he walked off, "It's nae concern of yers where the wood goes, do ye hear me? Ye'll keep doin' this until I tell ye it's time tae stop!"

Three weeks later, Walden encountered his Da standing in the same spot, and he merely nodded politely to him, stacked the wood, and turned back to go get more.

"That's enough of tha', son. I'll have another chore for ye to do tomorrow. Ye can go in now and have something tae eat."

"Thank you, Da," Walden mumbled, as he sat the axe and sling down next to the pile of wood. He heard the patter of elf feet as he headed to the washroom to clean up before he ate.

That night, at the supper table, his Mum asked him if he'd like to talk about Rowan. Walden muttered, "I canna," and stared down at his plate for several minutes before asking to be excused. He slept fitfully that night, tossing and turning until he finally relieved himself with his hand, feeling for all the world as if he were a first-year Slytherin schoolboy once again, gawping after the seventh-year girls.

The next morning, his Da started him in on dusting all the books in the castle's library, starting with the section on the Dark Arts. He was told to take each book down from the shelf and clean them one by one, and then clean and polish the shelves.

The Macnair family had been around for hundreds of years, and many of the Lairds had been avid bibliophiles. Walden was not looking forward to this task one bit, although the library was a pleasant room and the fire merrily crackling in the fireplace made him feel a very slight sense of satisfaction.

After the first week, during which he'd managed to thoroughly clean three sets of shelves (whilst grimacing as he noticed that there were several recently-purchased volumes concerning the Dark Lord, in particular), his Mum came in each morning and read while he worked. Walden regretted not talking to his Mum that night at supper, and he desperately wanted to ask her advice about Rowan, but he couldn't think of what he could say or even how to begin. Since that night, he'd been mentally reliving the events at Snape's funeral and on Diagon Alley, wondering if he could have said or done anything differently, and then ending the entire exercise with furious bouts of wanking (which left him sore and exhausted).

Finally, as the shadows lengthened on the walls on the fourth day, he sat down the book he'd been dusting, and said, "Excuse me, Mum?"

"What is it, son?" Elspeth answered.

"I miss her," Walden said, and his voice cracked. "And I miss me son."

"We havena even got to meet our new grandson," Elspeth said. "Is he a good lad?"

"Aye, he is. I told him that he could come and visit you and Da, and he wanted to, and then I bought him an ice cream on Diagon Alley and he said thank you, Daddy, like they do in America, and I couldna even say anything back to him because I couldna speak, and then she took him away. And she hasna written to me."

"Do ye blame her, son?"

"Nay, I don't blame her a bit—I'd have done the same, but I still doona have to like it! She said she used to love me. It's all over, the Dark Lord's gone. He canna hurt any of us anymore. Why can't she come back now?" Walden asked. And with that, he sat down on the settee next to his Mum and dropped his head into his hands.

"Son, ye're going to have to make amends for what you did to her that made her want to leave," Elspeth began, putting her arm around her son. "And even then, she still may not want to come back. Whatever it was, it must have been horrid."

Walden started to say something, and she held up her hand. "Son, I doona want to know exactly what happened. Yer father and I told ye that Riddle was no good, and we didna want ye mixed up with him. Ye told us that he was just tryin' to protect the wizarding world, the way we protect magic folk with our village, but I knew all along that wasna right! I always knew! I was hopin' that Rowan would convince ye to move with her to America, to get away from Riddle and his foolishness." She sighed. "And I got a letter from yer cousin last week—she's lookin' for ye, God knows why. I burned it. She's no better than that Riddle!"

"I know," Walden said, lifting himself up slowly so that he was staring in the general direction of his Mum. "She, uh…I doona want to have anything tae do with her."

Elspeth sighed again and sat her book down. "Son, that's the smartest thing I've heard ye say in years." She smiled. "Now, as far as Rowan is concerned…I think ye shouldna wait for her to write to ye, ye should write to her. I'll help ye."

And so, that evening, Walden wrote a short missive to Rowan, and sent it via the Relay Service to the Institute, hoping that she'd answer. In it, he was extremely polite and non-committal and simply requested a picture of Evan so that his parents could include him in the family portrait gallery. He also noted that his parents, specifically, would be amenable to meeting their grandson on neutral ground. Much as he wanted to add a section concerning his extreme state of arousal every time he thought of her, and the fact that he still adored her, he chose to leave this information out (at the advice of his Mum…and he was extremely embarrassed to even mention that part, but after he did, she served him a very short glass of whiskey, so that was all right).

* * *

Three weeks later, motivated by the anticipatory arrival of a reply, Walden finished cleaning the last bookshelf under his Da's scrutinizing gaze.

"Son, ye've done a good job, ye can go into Hogsmeade for the day," and Gavin tossed him a sack of Galleons. "Try not to do anythin' foolish," Gavin added.

Walden was as excited as he had been when he'd gone on day-trips as a student. He dashed upstairs to get cleaned up, and then Apparated away as his parents watched him from the castle's front steps.

"I hope we havena made a mistake," Elspeth said. "There's a Portkey office there," she added, rather unnecessarily.

"Nae, I didna give him enough for one to America, I think. I'm pretty sure I know what he'll be up ta," Gavin said, as he escorted her inside. "I asked them ta owl me when he shows up."


	8. Chapter 8 – Debacles

DISCLAIMER: J.K. Rowling owns most of the characters and settings here—I own the rest.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story is the final one in the story arc that contains "Dark Redemption" and "Date with an Executioner."

**SPELL-LESS IN SEATTLE  
Chapter 8 –**** Debacles**

"Och, lassie," Walden groaned, "I'm about to spend, sweet lass, put yer hand right there…aye, right up there like ye used to…" and he gave a long, loud groan and shuddered against Rowan, who was…well, to be honest, not quite as responsive as he'd hoped. She rolled over straightaway, in fact, and grabbed a towel off the bedside table, quickly swabbed him off and then jumped up and ran to the loo. There had been no kisses, and there was no lying together after…or shared drinks, even though he'd ordered mead for her. This was not what he'd dreamed of, not at all. As he stared at the velvet-covered ceiling, he realized he'd made a mistake.

When she got back, she pointed her wand at his nether parts (it tickled) and then hers, and muttered a spell in a very-bored sounding voice. He had rather hoped that she'd not do that right away, just to preserve the illusion.

"All right, then, big bloke," said Rowan, in a horrible Cockney accent, "Yer time's almost up!" And with that, a small chime sounded, and her face and body shimmered and melted and rearranged, and she was…tall, and black-haired. She looked an awful lot like his first wife, Isobel, in fact. Walden sighed. He'd been stupid enough to not ask for a girl who looked like Rowan in the first place. He'd just blundered into the establishment as quickly as he could, the one precious lock of hair he'd managed to save stowed in a glass bottle that he clutched like a talisman in his sweaty hands, and told the proprietress to be quick about things and send the Polyjuiced woman up when he was already in the room. And the Rowan-replica was not to speak until things were done…which it appeared that they were.

He stood up and sighed again and lumbered off to the loo.

When he came down to the parlor, he was not that surprised to see his Da sitting there.

"No' very satisfying, was it, son," Gavin said, as he sipped on a tumbler of single-malt.

"No' a damn bit," Walden said, sitting down next to him and accepting a glass from a witch in an exceedingly short and very sheer robe.

"Ye doona have any more of her hair or anythin' else, do ye?" asked Gavin.

"Nay, I just had the one left," Walden sighed, as he drained the glass.

"I was hopin' ye wouldn't waste your Galleons here, but I knew ye would. I paid for ye already, so we can go. And I willna tell your Mum," he added.

"Thank ye," Walden said, as he and Gavin got up and walked out. There was only a small sign, depicting a bottle with bubbling green oobleck in it, to indicate that they'd just departed Madame Mystery's Polyjuice Parlour, one of the most notorious brothels of the Wizarding World. Walden himself had visited here more than once back when he'd been observing Rowan for Lucius…but it had been different then, just like everything else.

* * *

The two wizards, instead of heading straight home, went to the Three Broomsticks. The place hadn't been damaged in the war, as both sides appreciated a good drink and a good meal. Several witches and wizards waved at Gavin, but Walden was given an extremely wide berth. He'd spent quite a lot of time in Hogsmeade during Voldemort's reign, not to mention which his previous career had made him rather notorious. He wasn't precisely banned from the place, as he'd always paid his bill and been at least nominally polite, but he didn't get very good service, either. This time, his butterbeer tasted watered down. Further, Madame Rosmerta, the barkeep, who'd been friendly with Rowan, wouldn't look him in the eye. He'd eventually gotten used to the whispering and pointing on the rare occasions that he came to Hogsmeade, preferring to have his drinks and food in solitude, anyway. He'd not even tried revisiting the other pub in town, the Hog's Head, figuring that Dumbledore would likely toss him out the door immediately on arrival. He stared gloomily down at his plate of food (which looked rather sparse and overcooked) as his Da chattered away.

"Are ye even listenin' to me, son?" Gavin said, finally. "I just said ye got an owl from Massachusetts!"

"Did ye bring it, Da?" Walden looked nearly desperate.

"O'course," and he pulled it from his cloak pocket.

Walden was disappointed, as he knew he would be, to find only a wizarding photograph of Evan, and a terse note from Rowan stating that she'd consider arranging a visit for Evan after her school year had ended. There was no salutation, not even a signature. Nevertheless, he put it reverently in his robe pocket, signaled the waitress, and ordered a bottle of Ogden's. When the bottle arrived after a rather lengthy wait, it had clearly been opened as well as obviously watered down, and he saw something that looked a lot like a gob of spittle around the rim. He didn't care, merely wiped the rim on his sleeve and drank the whole thing straight from the bottle, staring directly at Rosmerta as if daring her to say something. When he was done, Gavin asked for the cheque and then went to the loo. While he was gone, the waitress dropped two pieces of parchment on the table rather than one. The first detailed Gavin's portion. The second had a sum about five times higher than it should have been for Walden's portion, and a note at the bottom read "_Death Eater Special Prix Fixe."_

Walden looked down at the cheque, feeling rather annoyed (but not surprised), and thus he didn't observe the large, rowdy group of dragon handlers walk in, Charlie Weasley in the midst of them, all chattering amongst themselves….until all of them spotted him, seemingly at once. By the time Walden looked up, they had surrounded him, and one of them muttered, disgustedly, "Well, appears they'll let just about anyone in here these days."

He bit his lip and looked back down at the table, hoping they'd go away.

Weasley smacked the table with the flat of his hand. "Look at us when we're talking to you, Macnair. Your little arse-buddy Malfoy isn't here to make apologies for you now, is he?"

Walden merely looked up at Weasley and didn't say anything, because he knew there was no point in it…even though he'd heard some rumors about Weasley's constant woman-less state and thought he was being more than a bit hypocritical. He also thought that Lucius had been correct about what might happen if he 'gadded about the country,' especially when Weasley and two of the others grabbed his arms and dragged him out of the pub's back door. He hoped, then, that the rumors weren't true. None of the other customers even blinked an eye or paused their conversations. He thought he saw one man raise his glass to the group, in fact.

Walden had always been very strong, an asset in his former profession, and the weeks of manual labor had served to bring him back to somewhat of his former shape, but even he was incapable of fighting six wizards, especially when his wand was stashed back in his cloak. The very worst part was when they searched his pockets and stole the bag of Galleons he'd put there, telling him they'd use it for 'reparations'. Weasley himself took Rowan's letter and Evan's picture, stashing it away in his robe with a very unpleasant look on his face.

They left him on the ground next to the rubbish bins, and to add insult to injury, it began to rain, large, thick drops that immediately muddied the ground and soaked Walden's torn clothing. Ten minutes after they'd headed back into the pub, his Da came out with his cloak on his arm, and performed several Healing and Cleaning Charms, and repaired his clothes.

"No' like it was a waste of truly good whisky, was it, son. And I willna tell your Mum about this, either," were Gavin's only comments on the matter.

As he and Gavin walked to the end of the alley in preparation to Apparate, Walden said, "Er, Da, has anyone ever gotten 'round to building a pub in our village? And if no', can we?"

"Might no' be a bad idea," Gavin said.

"I'm thinkin' I doona need to come back here for a while," Walden added.

"I'm thinkin' yer right, son. We can afford it but there are better ways to spend our Galleons and our time."

* * *

When they got home, Walden kissed his Mum and then headed up for a long bath. As he sat in the steaming water, contemplating the utter debacle of his Hogsmeade jaunt, he recalled the last time he'd been there before the Battle of Hogwarts. Perhaps he ought to give some thought to emigrating, like Crabbe and Goyle had done, because, come to think of it, that night had been fairly wretched, too…and he assumed things would be even worse in London…and Godric's Hollow was, of course, beyond his consideration.

He'd been one of those tasked to guard Hogsmeade. The duty was rather ignominious, but the Death Eaters who'd been involved at the failed raid at the Department of Ministries had never quite managed to regain the Dark Lord's complete esteem. Lucius, of course, was the most scorned, but once it was discovered that Walden had actually grabbed Potter and the prophecy, and had then lost them due to a poke in the eye, he'd been put on the shite list, too…which involved numerous Crucios, over the course of a number of weeks. His eye had eventually healed, though.

Anyhow, that last night, which was about two weeks or so before the battle, after his duty was over, he'd got a room at the Hog's Head and then had gone over to the other brothel in town to attempt to locate company for the evening. There were no women available, so he'd headed back to the pub for a drink or two, and that's when she'd come in.

Bellatrix Lestrange.

She was with Rowle and someone else…possibly Selwyn, but Walden didn't recall exactly, and later a few of the other Death Eaters had come in after their shifts were over, and she'd sat there with all of them and drank most of them under the metaphorical table…as well as reaching under the actual table, unbuttoning Walden's trews, and stroking him until he could barely keep a straight face.

She'd leaned over then and whispered into his ear, "I might have some Polyjuice."

Walden, who was about to grab her and bend her over the table, heedless of the consequences, whispered back, "I've got a room upstairs," words that were burned into his memory, and that he would regret later…because she hadn't exactly specified what she was planning to do with the Polyjuice. He'd checked to make sure that he had the locket in his sporran, the one with the small picture of Rowan and the lock of hair (of which he'd just used the last) and waited a decorous few minutes for Bellatrix to 'Apparate to the Manor' before heading up to his room.

After he'd locked and spelled the door, he tried to grab her and kiss her and move her to the bed, and she wasn't having any of that.

"I heard you shared her, with _him_, your wife, that is," she said, her eyes flashing with insanity, as she bared her teeth at him in a very bad facsimile of a smile.

Walden's desire for her vanished in an instant. _And that's why Rowan LEFT ME, you bloody bitch_, he thought, in a rare moment of clarity, and he wanted to say the words to her very badly, but he just nodded at her and said, "I did." And he'd regretted it ever since, especially the fact that he'd cast Imperio on her to do it. It had not been the least bit satisfying, either; he'd finally taken the memory out with his wand, stored it in a bottle, and buried it behind his hunting lodge.

As for the current situation, he should have guessed. Everyone knew how Bellatrix felt about the Dark Lord, and everyone also knew the Dark Lord had never indulged her obsession, never even come close, not even on her initiation night. Apparently even he had some standards. Walden felt like the world's biggest prat at that point.

"Well, tell me all about what it was like, and you can have me," she said, sitting down in a chair and lifting her skirt. She'd never managed to regain her pre-Azkaban beauty. The unkempt view was not appealing.

"But…wha…what about the Polyjuice?" Walden asked, as his head suddenly felt very blurry and his voice slurred, a lot. And the minute he uttered the words, he regretted them, because he knew what was coming next.

She reached into her bag and pulled out a bottle of bubbling, green goo. "Thought ye'd never ask. Drink up, laddie!" she said, in a horrid faux-Scots accent.

He'd wondered for years how she'd managed to get a bit of him, and decided that he truly did not want to know.


	9. Chapter 9 – Circulations

DISCLAIMER: J.K. Rowling owns most of the characters and settings here—I own the rest.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story is the final one in the story arc that contains "Dark Redemption" and "Date with an Executioner."

**SPELL-LESS IN SEATTLE  
Chapter 9 –**** Circulations**

_**Salem, Massachusetts, December 1999**_

The news that I'd managed to successfully go to England, attend Severus' funeral, and return to America unscathed and unburdened by any pesky former Death Eaters managed to get around town very quickly. I noticed that a lot of folks who'd previously been polite, yet distant when I'd first arrived back in town now seemed rather eager to greet me during the course of my daily routine. For the first time since 1992, I felt at home.

I'd settled back into teaching at the Institute, but I still had not yet decided on how to end the curriculum. I did, however, distribute a booklist including such titles as RISE AND FALL OF THE DARK ARTS, and had hinted that students might want to familiarize themselves with the material in preparation for the end-of-the-year test. Although I mentally braced myself for some snickers and whispered comments after this pronouncement, everyone just took notes in silence-one witch even raised her hand and asked if the books were available online (I didn't know, but I doubted it).

Evan had not been happy when we left, and asked about his father every day. I told him that he was fine, and to expect a letter soon…which usually managed to distract him enough to get him on to another subject.

An actual Relay Service owl from Walden did in fact arrive in late December in the afternoon; thankfully, I was the one to directly receive it. In order to read the missive, I decided to fortify myself beforehand with a drink at the Cloudy Crystal. Whenever I thought about what he'd said at the reception as we sat together in the window seat…_sweet lass, please come with me upstairs, I'll Apparate us, just for a little while, I willna last long, but I'll give ye as much pleasure as I can_.…I'd had to grab my Santeria beads in order to stop myself from grabbing the first Portkey I could arrange.

After handing Evan over to Inanna at the store, I went directly to a seat at the bar and ordered a glass of high-gravity mead, while attempting to not look at the numerous bottles of single-malt that the place now offered…the ones that were lined up like little Scottish sentinels …_just like Walden's very neat, very straight handwriting_, I thought, as I glanced down at the envelope, which was stamped all over with Relay Service markings. I noted that the return address was "Rait Castle, Nairn"—I recalled that this was his parents' residence.

The letter, itself, was free of innuendo. He wished both of us a Happy Yule, and stated that his parents would be more than pleased to see Evan under supervised conditions. He also asked for a wizarding photograph of Evan, so that a portrait of him might be created for the family portrait gallery. He signed it "Yours Truly, Walden," and he ever-so-slightly underlined "Yours."

I held onto the beads as I wrote a very quick note back to him. Before I could add more, I sealed it in a return envelope, along with a picture of Evan from my wallet, and then stuffed both letters back into my purse. I then ordered another glass of mead, even though I was rather tempted by the Laphroaig. I'd just handed the bartender back the lunch menu and placed my order when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

I turned, to hear the annoying voice of Moonwillow, who had a big smile on his face. "Rowan! How lovely to see you!" he burbled, and then invited me to join him for lunch. I inwardly groaned, and very briefly considered calling the bartender back to change my order from a veggie burger to a very large plate of something meaty and dead (and a bottle of Laphroaig), but I managed to restrain myself.

We moved over to a table and sat down. Moonwillow, of course, did not want to sit at the bar, as he did not drink, a fact that he announced whenever possible. He also did not pull out my chair for me. I sat down with a sigh. _Back to this again_, I thought. I certainly wasn't planning to date him or anybody else for the moment, but I had no wish to lose my recently-regained social status, so I forced a smile on my face and had a nice, non-committal discussion with him, all the while attempting to not think of the term "Mudblood git." It wasn't easy.

We talked of the recent and very popular Yule celebrations that the Institute had hosted, and how well the store was doing. I'd helped Inanna to set up a Web site, and the online orders were pouring in. She'd hired some students on part-time to help with the rush, and had, repeatedly, asked me if I'd wanted to buy back into the store. I told her I'd consider it. Moonwillow opined that it was a wonderful idea and that I should definitely do that. When the food arrived, we, of course, had the same entrée, and I gave him a smile and a little salute. To his credit, he simply smiled back and didn't gloat.

Once I was finished, I attempted to politely excuse myself, but Moonwillow kept on talking. I finally had to pointedly look up at the clock above the bar and state, "Uh, I'm sorry, but I really need to get to the Owl Office before it closes."

"Welllll…I do hate to end our discussion, though," he said, with a smile. _Oh Gods, no_, I thought. _He wasn't._

"Er, what do you mean?" I tried to play dumb. "Surely we'll see each other soon? Why not stop by the store?" _Inanna was going to smack me for that_, I thought.

"Well, I was thinking of something more along the lines of us catching a flick in Boston, and then coming here, possibly on Saturday night." He gave me a very big, very goofy smile.

It took every bit of strength of will that I had to not grab the letter to Walden out of my purse and scrawl **"P.S. PLEASE COME HERE AND GET ME AWAY FROM THIS GIT, ASAP!"** on the outside. "Er, thank you, but, sorry…I'd, uh, already made arrangements to take Evan to the movies that night," I said, standing up from the table. I hadn't, but I knew that children often scared single wizards away. Not Moonwillow, though. "I'm sure you can get someone to babysit him," he said. "You could ask Inanna!"

"She's….er, dating someone," I said, although she actually wasn't; however, there was no way that Moonwillow would know that.

"How about Rhiannon?" he asked, as he stood up next to me. "I just talked with her and I'm sure she'd be glad to do it!" _Whaaaaaaaaaaaat?_ I thought. _I was going to go and have my own talk with her…if she'd encouraged this, she was in deep trouble._

"Look, I don't want to impose on her," I said. "She's already done so much for me over the past year. And….well," I decided to forge on, figuring that honesty was probably best, but I managed to wimp out on what I was tempted to say, which unfortunately did involve "Mudblood git," and a lot of cursing. Sadly, I was sure that the Santeria charm wouldn't help keep Moonwillow away, either. "I really do appreciate the offer, but I am just not…uh, ready for that sort of thing."

"Well, when you are ready," he said, and I inwardly groaned, "I'll be here." He leaned over toward me, clearly attempting to kiss me. I put my arms out and gave him an A-frame hug. He frowned a little, but recovered quickly. "I really do have to go…sorry!" I said, and I grabbed my purse and Apparated right on the spot, muttering silent thanks to Walden for his excellent lessons.

* * *

About a week later, when I thought of it, I confronted Rhiannon in her office. She was grading papers, but waved me in. I closed the door behind me and started right in.

"What in all the Goddesses' names did I do to you to deserve you siccing that….that…." I was not going to lose my composure, I wasn't; nor was I going to utter hate speech in front of Rhiannon. "You know. Foisting that weenie wizard on me! Moonwillow! Ugh!"

"He's not _that_ bad, bubbeleh," she said. "He's been coming here to talk to me about things, and the subject of you just happened to come up. I think it might do you good to have a social life for a change."

"Hasn't Inanna told you about him, and didn't I ever tell you the story of what happened that time at the Crystal? I don't mind being nice to him, and lunch was fine, but there is just…no…._way_!" I said, angrily. "Not if he were the last wizard on earth. Come to think of it, I've already been with the _worst_ wizard ever…you're right, the git's not _that_ bad, but no. Just, NO! If you talk to him again, tell him that I've decided on permanent celibacy!" I started pacing around her office.

Rhiannon looked very, very serious all of a sudden. "Hold on a minute. Who were you talking about there?" she said, looking at me curiously. "I didn't get the impression that Macnair was that horrible to you…Erik said he was more or less polite at the funeral. And, of course, Severus was very nice to all of us that time at the World Cup…but then again…"

_Oh, crap. Erik had kept my secret, as he'd promised._ _Perhaps I could convince her that I'd meant Lucius. _ "Uh, nobody," I said. "Never mind. I have to go grade some papers." I headed toward the door.

Rhiannon waved her wand and locked the door and then did a Silencing Spell. She didn't bother with that sort of thing unless she was serious.

"Sit down, bubbeleh," she said, in her very best High Priestess Voice of Authority. I sat. "Now who were you really talking about, and I know you, so don't say Moonwillow."

"Uh," I said.

"Do I know this person? Do you mean that verkakte one from New Orleans?" She made a complicated movement, muttered some words, and spat three times.

"No," I said.

"Oh…that's right. I remember now. We did a binding on _two_ of them that time, and Erik did say something to me once about that other wizard; the rich one who invited you to the funeral, that Malfoy. You mean him, right?"

I nodded my head rapidly. "Uh-huh!" I said, a bit too quickly. "I'm not sure if Erik told you that, he, Malfoy, I mean, uh, sort of had these parties, and…"

"You know I came of age in the 60s," Rhiannon said, and started to chuckle. "Those sorts of goings-on were very normal…" She got a very strange look on her face. "But you don't mean him at all, either, do you?"

"No," I said. The room was very cold. It was too cold. Everything was cold. It did not matter if those memories were in the Pensieve locked in a vault. I still felt them. The only thing warm on me now was the Santeria charm.

"Do I know who you mean?" Rhiannon said, looking me straight in the eye.

"You know who I mean," I said, emphasizing the first three words a bit.

"_Oy, gevalt_," Rhiannon said, slumping in her chair. "Erik never said a word," she added.

"He promised me he wouldn't," I said, looking down at my hands.

"How did…I mean, did Macnair…was he involved…did…uch…" Rhiannon seemed at a loss for words. "That's why you finally left, isn't it?"

"Well, I was afraid to use a Portkey while I was pregnant. And I was trying to…trying to not let him…" I started sobbing right there. "He did apologize. I mean, Walden apologized, before I left, and when I was over there for the funeral, too. I don't have the specific memories, still, but I have the ones leading up to, um, the event. Walden told me that if…we'd refused him, well, he would have just killed me. Us. I don't have the memories…uh, on me, you know."

"Where are these memories? You did take them out, didn't you?"

"My Pensieve, the one in New York."

"Bubbeleh…I think we need to destroy them. Let's get that arranged right away, shall we?"


	10. Chapter 10 – What Goes Around

DISCLAIMER: J.K. Rowling owns most of the characters and settings here—I own the rest.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story is the final one in the story arc that contains "Dark Redemption" and "Date with an Executioner."

**SPELL-LESS IN SEATTLE  
Chapter 10 – What Goes Around**

_**Hogsmeade, Scotland, May 2000**_

Although Walden was initially reluctant to come along on the family outing to Hogsmeade, he had to admit he was enjoying himself vicariously through Evan, who was, of course, being massively spoiled by his grandparents. A sizable amount of Honeydukes' finest sweets (magically shrunk, of course) were tucked away in Gavin's cloak, ready to be devoured later, along with loads of trick merchandise from the brand-new Hogsmeade branch of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

(Walden decided to stand outside and smoke his pipe during that particular shopping excursion, though.)

Even lunch at the Three Broomsticks had gone without incident; Walden was not billed superfluously or separately, and his butterbeer tasted as good as it had before the War. He kept glancing around, as if to reassure himself that this wasn't merely a pleasant dream.

As the group wended its way around the narrow streets toward the Shrieking Shack, Gavin consulted his pocketwatch.

"We'd best look at the Shack quickly and get straight back ta the Portkey Office, son," he said with a smile. "Rowan's due in about thirty minutes." Walden couldn't believe how fast Evan's visit had gone. It seemed like only yesterday he'd arrived, but he'd been at the castle for nearly a month. During that time, they'd seen the sights of the Highlands, and Gavin had taken Evan to Diagon Alley a few times. On these visits, Evan had gotten to meet his stepbrother and stepsister, who now both adored him. The entire family had visited Malfoy Manor, where Evan was thrilled to play with the giant stuffed dragon in Draco's former nursery, while Gavin managed to keep his opinions on Sassenach wizards to himself for at least a few hours.

Walden smiled and nodded at his Da, then reached in his pocket to ensure that the jewelry pouch was still there. His Mum had, after a lengthy discussion, given him another family heirloom ring. He was hoping that Rowan would decide to stay for an extra day or two, during which he planned to propose to her again…this time as a wizard free of questionable Dark encumbrances. Even though they were technically still married, Elspeth had recommended that he pursue this course as it was both symbolic and extremely romantic.

"Can you read that sign to me, Grampa Gavin?" Evan piped up, interrupting Walden's thoughts.

Clearing his throat and staring anxiously at his son, Gavin began, "Well, laddie, it says, _The Shrieking Shack. Formerly infamous as the Most Haunted Dwelling in Britain, this abandoned house was the scene of the final confrontation between the war hero, Headmaster Severus Snape, and the evil Lord Voldemort (formerly known as Tom Marvolo Riddle) in 1998, during which Snape was murdered due to Voldemort's quest for the Elder Wand. _

_Latter-day Hallows seekers are advised that The Elder Wand is currently magically sealed and protected inside the tomb of Headmaster Albus Dumbledore on the grounds of Hogwarts; Harry Potter placed it there during the Keystone Ceremony of 1999, which formerly commenced the rebuilding of the venerable school. For further information, please consult chapter 30 of Inside the Dark Arts, compiled by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Ministry of Magic, in cooperation with the Alliance for Magical Unity." _

Walden turned away as his father recited the words, as he felt very uncomfortable about the whole thing. Although Rowan had warned him that Evan knew a bit about his role in the war and his Dark activities, Evan had yet to ask about any of it, and thus the subject had loomed about in the dark corners of the castle for the past several weeks like an overgrown manticore.

"Daddy," Evan began, looking up at his father with eyes full of questions while clutching the stuffed dragon that Narcissa Malfoy had given him, "Did you know Lord Voldemort?"

Walden bit his lip and looked down at the ground. His Mum and Da had slowly walked a few feet away, and were doing their level best to pretend they were studying the broken-down architecture of the Shrieking Shack.

"I'm afraid I did, son," he finally answered. "And I wish I had never met him."

And that was when the black-cloaked wizard Apparated right between them and punched Walden in the gut, while screaming, "You don't belong anywhere near this place, sodding Death Eater!"

Walden coughed, angrily, as he attempted to regain his breath and his balance, and he finally managed to shout, "Leave my family alone, ye bastard, or I'll rip yer bloody head off!" He dimly heard his father yelling and glimpsed him brandishing his wand, which was a fearsome sight under normal circumstances. Elspeth was screaming, and Walden couldn't quite understand why, until the wizard whipped off the hood of his cloak. It was Charlie Weasley, and he had hold of Evan…and then he turned and both of them vanished.

"I'll track 'em, son…you and yer Mum go and meet Rowan!" Gavin yelled, as he swooped and twirled his wand in the air where they'd disappeared. "Go on, go now, and meet me back here!"

* * *

Walden and Rowan hid behind a stand of trees, watching Charlie Weasley pace around the forest clearing. He had Evan magically bound (they couldn't tell exactly how), but he'd at least made him comfortable on a blanket, with his stuffed dragon next to him. He didn't look very pleased, though—his mouth was open and he was clearly attempting to break the Silencing Charm barrier, as well as struggle against whatever the invisible bonds were.

"That's me lad," Walden muttered.

"I think he comes by the stubbornness honestly, on _both_ sides," Rowan remarked. She stared at Walden and they both began laughing.

"Good thing ye did that charm, lass," Walden finished, when they'd calmed down a bit. "Or Weasley'd heard that for sure."

"Yeah," Rowan said. "So, do we have any sort of plan, now that we've actually found him?"

"I was thinkin' of givin' him back some of his own medicine," Walden growled, clenching his right fist and slamming it into his left. "It's a fair fight now, and I doona need magic for tha'!"

"I can't blame you, really…but, maybe we should at least think about reasoning with him? I mean…he's friends with one of my friends, you know." Ironically, he'd actually been the one responsible for Rowan's visiting Hogwarts in the first place.

"Och, that's Massachusetts talkin' now. How about I just go over there and pound the shite out of him, and ye take care of the magic part? Ye can reason with him _after_ ye've Stunned him!"

"What if it's a trap? What if those other dragon guys…or maybe some of his relatives…are just waiting for you to do that?"

"Fair point," Walden said. "Ye doona last long around dragons by bein' stupid."

All of a sudden, Weasley grabbed Evan's hand and reached in his cloak pocket a couple of seconds later…then the air around Weasley and Evan shimmered, and they vanished.

"Shite!" yelled Walden. "He had a bloody Portkey!"

All that was left in the clearing was the blanket and the dragon. Rowan ran toward them, grabbed the stuffed animal, fell to her knees, and began sobbing. Walden knelt down next to her on the blanket.

"He…he didn't even let him take his dragon," she managed to choke out. "Where…where do you think…"

"I doona know, but I can find out," Walden said.

"How? I didn't think anybody could…." She stopped, at the look on his face. His lips were in a thin line. He'd stood up, started to raise his wand and back away from the blanket.

"There _was_ someone who could, lassie. And he taught me well," Walden added.

"Oh no," Rowan said. "Oh, no, no….I don't want you using any of that…..that… Dark stuff…that tainted crap," and she sniffed and wiped her nose on her cloak. They were beyond niceties at this point.

"I have ta, lass," he said. "Now stand back, this one can be a little….er…disruptive."

"You can't do it! Someone will find out! The Ministry…they'll send Aurors…." Rowan, despite her reticence at the idea of using one of the Dark Lord's spells, had stood up anyway, still clutching the stuffed dragon.

"It's nae an Unforgivable, and if Aurors do come, we can tell 'em what that Gryffindor did, and show 'em where he went, and send them after 'im!"

"I suppose…" Rowan said, still looking unsure.

"I said to stand back, me lass, I have ta do it soon or it willna work!" Walden took Rowan by the shoulders and propelled her toward the treeline. "And shield yerself!"

The spell was horrible. Black, blotchy tendrils reached out of Walden's wand into the air from whence Weasley and Evan had vanished. The tendrils formed a sort of portal, very unpleasantly shaped. Walden beckoned to Rowan, muttering, "Keep yer shield up when ye get close."

"Why don't _you_ have one up?" Rowan asked, as she tentatively approached the pulsating portal. "Ugh! It looks like…Devil's Snare or something. And it _stinks_!"

"He wasna much concerned about nice-smellin' spellwork," Walden said. "And I doona need a shield, I've already been around it plenty, it canna hurt me any worse."

They peered into the portal, where they glimpsed a house covered in shells, and heard the overwhelming sound of the sea. A large, older red-haired woman stood in the door of the house. Charlie, gripping Evan's hand, appeared, and led him to the woman. Evan was kicking and screaming all the way, but the older woman appeared to calm him down a bit before leading both of them into the house and closing the door firmly behind them. And then the house shimmered and vanished.

"Probably Weasley's mum," Walden muttered. "Think I remember seeing her. Think _she's_ the one who killed…." And he smiled a bit at the memory before letting his words drift off.

"Weasley's mum?" Rowan said. "She _killed_ someone? At, er, the battle, you mean? Who'd she kill?"

"No' anyone important," Walden said. "Now we'll follow them, and we'll just have to wait until they take down those wards. They'll have ta eventually."

Rowan yawned widely and then shivered.

"Sorry, lass, need ta take this down first—we're nae goin' through tha'!" Walden shouted, and he waved his wand and muttered something that sounded very unpleasant, and the portal slowly crumbled away into nothingness. "Just give me a minute ta track 'em now," he added, when he was done. He muttered a few spells, then motioned to Rowan to grab the blanket and the dragon, and they Apparated away to the empty-looking shore.

Once they got there, Rowan sat down the dragon and the blanket and crouched down next to them. "So cold," she said.

Walden dropped to his knees beside her. "Sorry…that spell can do tha'," he said, stripping off his cloak and putting it over her shoulders. "I'll get a fire started."

"Please…just stay there, you're so warm." Rowan said. She leaned back into him.

"Lass," Walden said, "Let me hold ye for a minute," and he turned around, stood up, and pulled her into an embrace. She was shivering. "I have ta start the fire now," he said. "Have ta let you go."

"Please…don't," Rowan said, through her shivers, and she stared up at him. The sun was beginning to make its journey downward, and the ocean breezes were rather chilly. Walden pulled her tighter against him.

"Sweet lass," he groaned. "Ye told me ye didna want me any more…"

Rowan stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him.

"Och, lass, please, I willna be able to hold back, I'll make me own fire, I'll explode if ye keep doin' that…" and he kissed her back, groaning deeply as he did. She slid her hands down his back, pulling him closer.

"I can't stand it any more," she said. "I need you right here, now, please, Walden."

"I've waited so long ta hear ye say tha'…tell me it's nae that spell…ye _must_ tell me…." he said, his breath coming heavy and hard. "Do ye honestly want me?" He gently released her a bit then, and said a quick Silencing Charm, and then a ward, to keep prying ears and eyes away from them. He then cast a Warming Charm, slid his tartan cloak off her shoulders, and arranged it on top of the blanket. While lowering her down onto the makeshift bed, he fumbled with his robe in flattering haste. He was more than ready.

"Not the spell," Rowan gasped. "I've missed you…please!" And then she grabbed at the beads around her neck and muttered. "I love him, I _can't_ _stop_ loving him, I never did stop, you'll have to understand…"

"Wha' was that, lassie….I doona understand? Who do you love? No' me?" Walden looked utterly dismayed and stopped his caresses. "Then… doona play with me heart! Go to _him_, then, let him give ye solace!"

"No, there is no one else!" Rowan protested. "There hasn't been anyone else since…."

"Och! Ye mean that Auror. I knew it!" Walden continued. "It canna be the other, he's dead! And doona tell me if it's Lucius, I doona want to know!"

"No…no…NO! It's a protecting charm!" Rowan said. "I have a protecting _orisha_….a spirit! I told her that I love _you_, so that she won't…er…she won't…."

…and the shore was limned in an unearthly light, and there was a beautiful woman, in blue robes, with a necklace of seashells…and when she spoke, they heard her loudly and clearly, but in their heads.

"….so she won't do, er, something like this," Rowan finished. "Because, like, we're in her territory…."

_**I will move the seas to drown you, axe-man….If you hurt her, you will pay!**_

"Who are ye? I thought ye were one of the Fair Folk," Walden said. "Ye've come to me in me dreams!"

_**It matters not what I am called or where I am from. I can move the seas to drown you and my sister the wind can grind you into dust to decorate my shores. And I will do more than that if you hurt her! You will go where your Dark Lord went!**_

"I doona want tha!" Walden protested. "I want to love her and protect her and I want our son back!"

_**If you go back on your words, axe-man, the next time you see me will be the last time you draw breath!**_

"I willna! I _swear_!" Walden said.

_**You have one chance…**_

"Who….did tha'?" gasped Walden. "Who made tha' charm?"

"My friend Maria," Rowan said. "She doesn't mess around. Now, where were we?" They lay entwined on the blanket, and their robes were both hiked up around their waists. It was a very good thing that Walden had cast that Warming Charm.

"I'll…er…I'll need a couple o' minutes, lassie. Ta…er….get back in the mood…" Walden sighed, pushing up on his arm and looking down at her fondly. "I feel like we just got married all over again!"

"Yeah, that was pretty heavy," Rowan mused.

"Er…" Walden reached into his robe pocket and pulled out a flask. "Sorry, but I need some o'this," and he took a long draught.

"Care to share?" Rowan asked.

"O' course," he said, passing it in her direction and laughing as she coughed and sputtered and spilled the flask in her surprise. More of the whisky landed on her robe and splashed on her skin than went in her mouth.

"I forgot how strong you liked your drink," she said.

"Hate to waste it," he said, thickly, and he ran his finger through a large drop on her belly. He slid his broad finger into his mouth. "Share it with me, lass," he growled. She kissed him then, deeply, and he groaned. "Doona want ta waste any of it," he said, and he slid down and licked off the rest as Rowan moaned in frustration.

"Lass," he groaned. "Have ta have ye now…I'll ride ye hard, I willna hold back," and he rolled over on top of her.

And they trysted on the blanket for hours, while Shell Cottage remained hidden…

* * *

"Macnair has a son?" Harry Potter said. "Well…I mean….I suppose I'm not surprised, really, he's one of those Pureblood types and they're all interested in family and heritage and all that business…."

"Harry, he has another son and a daughter as well, by his first wife," Hermione Granger replied.

"He's been married more than _once_?" Harry said, incredulously. He was more than a little miffed at anyone else's romantic success, mostly because he and Ginny were currently in the midst of a two-week spat. "Who'd marry _him_?" He clearly recalled Buckbeak's erstwhile execution day, and the grim-looking wizard who'd not only nearly chopped down Hagrid's fence when he was unable to perform his duty, but then run off to corral Dementors with a look of almost manic glee on his face…not to mention the fact that, garbed and masked as a Death Eater, he'd nearly strangled Harry at the Department of Mysteries while trying to retrieve the prophecy. Although, as Harry recalled, Neville had managed to get a good eye-poke in during _that_ fight. Hadn't he heard something, too, about Hagrid having thrown him against a wall?

Hermione cleared her throat. She lived for this sort of thing. "Er, the former Miss Isobel Buchanan, who went to school with him, and the former Madame Rowan Hawthorne, of the Salem Witches Institute," she recited.

"An American witch?" Harry asked. "Why does that name sound ever slightly so familiar?"

"She's the one that New York Auror told us about," Hermione prompted. "You remember, the one…"

"Oh!" Harry exclaimed. "But, I thought….what's she doing back here now? And why is she with, you know, _him_, again?"

"Harry," Hermione began, "I'm sure that you are aware that many witches and wizards have simply wanted to move on from wartime and resume as much…well, normalcy as they can. The Macnairs were both at Headmaster Snape's memorial service, with their son. I remember seeing them there with the Malfoys. And you'd better get it together, because according what I just heard, they are going to be here any minute now to tell you all about the situation." She'd been passing through the Auror Department on the way back from a meeting, and had intended to just say a quick hello to Harry, and instead, he'd dragged her into his office to ask for advice.

"But…." Harry threw his hands up in the air. "He's a Death Eater! Why am I supposed to _help_ him? I'm supposed to be capturing Dark wizards!"

"He _was_ a Death Eater, but in the end, he was also an acquitted one," Hermione reminded him. "And I rather don't think that organization exists anymore." Harry scowled at her. "Plus, from what I understand? His wife asked for you, specifically, rather than Ron…because the wizard who kidnapped their son?" She paused. "We all know him. Charlie Weasley."

* * *

Evan sat on the sofa in the living room of Shell Cottage, screaming as loud as he could.

"I _don't want_ cookies and milk! I want my mommy, and I want my dragon, and I want my Grandma and Grandda, and my daddy!" he yelled. His little face was bright red in anger and frustration.

Molly Weasley had been attempting to placate him with the aforementioned treat, which clearly wasn't working. Finally, she resorted to a surreptitious Sleep Charm, feeling rather guilty as she did so. After she'd tucked a blanket around Evan, she stood up.

"Charles Gideon Weasley," she said, to her son. "I realize that you believe you're doing the right thing, and you know that I hate the Death Eaters as much as you do…maybe even more, but this child is innocent! What possible harm could he be doing to anyone? His grandparents are innocent, too, I might add—from what Percy has just told me, there was never any evidence that they had anything to do with their son while he was part of Voldemort's forces. In fact, quite the opposite! And this child has obviously been raised in America…I suppose by his mother. We don't know anything about her at all!"

"Mum, he's Macnair's son. How could he be anything other than bad? Did you listen to how he was yelling? I'm surprised he didn't already curse you!"

"He's a little boy who is frustrated and scared and he was asking for his family! I have taught you better than that! Are you even listening to yourself? If you're planning to do anything to this little boy….why, I'll….you just wait till your father gets here!"

But the head in the fireplace that eventually showed up wasn't Arthur Weasley's, it belonged to Harry Potter.

"Mrs. Weasley?" Harry said.

"Come on through, Harry, please," Molly said. "You need to help me talk some sense into my son."


End file.
